


Twist me and turn me

by EnlacingLines



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background hints of Yusuke/Futaba, Eventual Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Persona 5 Protagonist Has A Palace, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Pining, Post Royal, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, working through the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: Two years since the re-set of reality, Goro is truly is living as freely as one can. Which means staying far away from Akira. His rival, his comparison point, his may have been friend, his may have been...well, it’s no use living in what could have been. Goro needs to be able to move on from all that occurred, cut off the pathways which drew him to destruction and almost killed him several times over.Except, when he discovers a secret, he is dragged right back once more.---A protagonist has a palace story.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 71
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to start sharing this! I've been working on it for a while. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my amazing friends for listening to me talk about this story, especially to my amazing beta MxTicketyBoo
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The rush of the city hits the moment he steps off the Shinkansen, the transformation seeming somehow abrupt despite the subtle changes occurring along the journey. The harshness of Tokyo burns more than it ever has done before, despite Goro spending more of his life in it than away. 

Suburbia is apparently where his heart hails to now, even though he scoffs at the stupidity of the sentiment as it slips through. Yet even the short traverse from the platform up to the open air has him gritting his teeth, seconds from snapping at the next person who blindly runs into him, or crowds just a little too close. 

He inhales once as he steps outside, counting to ten. He had at first despised this mechanism of mediating emotions that he’d previously either suppressed or surrendered to utterly, yet it does happen to work. Something about numbers, their constantness, grounds him more than any visualisation of abstract happiness. 

Problem is, once he finishes the count, he’s still in Tokyo. The buildings rise, glaring and uniform in their vast occupation of the skyline. Jingles echo from every store, chatter from the multitude of people, lights flash from the latest idol group playing on one of the humongous screens, echoing a descant over the traffic. 

“One month,” he mutters to himself, gripping his small holdall tighter, and marching across the square. 

Despite his distaste for the city, he can still navigate the train lines like the back of his hand, muscle memory his guide. He changes lines surface side and swipes his card to enter back down once more, missing the simplicity of one line and two directions he’s become accustomed to. 

Goro zones out waiting on the platform, trying to ignore everyone and everything around him. The train on the opposite platform pulls up and departs, leaving the same looking people, all in their own world, lost and unknowing. 

A sharp pain stabs through his head and Goro winces, hissing slightly as the world pulses. Headaches are not unusual nowadays, yet the sudden sharpness is shocking. The station seems to morph, the tracks widening into a dim, dizzying pathway, the sparks of pain behind his eyelids spinning silvers and scarlet pinpricks as he attempts to focus, while cutting curving shadows spring up on all sides. An eerie piping tune echoes, and Goro curses the person playing such hideous music on their phone. He grimaces, swallows hard as the headache and noise persists and the world pulses, deep and beckoning. 

The arrival of the train bursts through his subconscious and the pain eases to a muted irritation as the world rights itself. His hands shake as he boards, immediately dropping down into a seat and massaging his temples. Thankfully, the idiot playing their music stays on the platform, the tune vanishing as the door shuts. 

“One month,” he repeats to himself, quietly but uncaring if anyone hears, “it’s just one fucking month.” 

* * *

The cleanliness of the hotel is impressive, which is all he truly needs. Otherwise, the room is sparse and the bathroom small, but space is space and Goro has never needed vastness to be satisfied. He sleeps the night away and wakes up early, needing to get this sorted as swiftly as possible. 

On closer inspection, the two years of his absence are clear in his route to the solicitor. Shops he doesn’t recognise, places he feels were not there before, even streets having changed slightly. Tokyo keeps an air of what it always was, never losing that essence, but it is at the microlevel, so changed. 

But then again, Goro is hardly the same person who once walked these streets. 

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long, glimmers of anxiety filling his chest as the appointment time arrives and he’s called before the desk of a stern yet unfamiliar woman, something he’s thankful for. 

“Thank you for coming all this way, Akechi. As mentioned on the phone, we do estimate the proceedings will take a few weeks, but no longer than a month. Unfortunately, there is always a lot of paperwork in these instances,” she says with a specific air of false professionalism.

_ You can say after a parent is jailed for life _ , he thinks but only nods. “I understand. Although I’m still unclear what you need me to do,” he says, and she opens a folder with a selection of documents. 

“Although Masayoshi Shido’s assets were mostly seized by the state, there are some which he bequeathed to you upon his death. It took us a while to trace you, and we do appreciate you coming all this way. Due to the circumstances, it will take us a while to untangle these, and we’ll need to have your signature, and possibly interview you a few times as they are released,” she explains. 

Goro manages a tight smile. He would, quite honesty, prefer to leave said assets to rot, whatever they might be. Yet for some reason he cannot quite do that. He needs to fully cut ties to this place, his former life. To make his own path, as he’d sworn in some world lost and unreal, he’d need to burn the edges, ensuring he cannot come back. The looming knowledge of what could potentially be has been holding him back so far. This is one of the last connections, the final ties. He can spend a month ensuring it ends. 

“I understand. I’d be happy to look through those forms now,” he says, and her shoulders relax somewhat as she passes them over. 

It’s odd, he’s found how the world works around him. Legally he still exists and he’ll get the occasional question, the slight too long stare, but then they’ll shake their heads and move away. His old life, his once position in the limelight, has vanished, only an echo remaining. Much like the gaps in his own memory which persist even now. 

A new lease of life, hard won with scars to prove what was forsaken. Sometimes, it doesn’t seem worth it, and he has another set of scars as remnants of what occurs when that sentiment overwhelms. But time passes, and while things do not heal, not completely, their brands become easier to live with. 

“I also looked into recovering your own belongings from when you lived here. Oddly enough the apartment has remained vacant, so you can visit and inquire regarding the status of any items. I also have the key to the storage unit,” she says, handing over an envelope. 

Goro breaks from his reading to place it in his bag. “Thank you. These forms look fine, I’ll sign,” he says, and does so, handing them back. 

“Much appreciated. I have your number, I’ll call when we have movement, it should be sometime in the next few days,” she says, and Goro nods. 

Deciding to get on with this tedious process of collecting his past life together once and for all, he crosses the city to his old apartment. The muted negative nostalgia gives way though at this point, and he physically has to stop as he turns into the street he used to live in. 

A sickening feeling twirls in his gut, and he leans against a wall, inhaling deeply. His skin burns, memories flooding. Walking this way, spent yet exhilarated after a trip to the metaverse, leaving to catch trains at precise times to tail certain people, returned in a car those few times, one time in particular when his body simply gave out, unable to function, seeing blood in every corner of the dark. 

Mostly, it’s a recollection of blooming pain; of a person clutching onto a tainted vision to get them through the next second without fracturing. A constant numbness, only punctuated by highs and lows extreme in nature, focused on something with a clear end, ever approaching. All of it encased in destruction, so much that it is hard in this present, to breathe. 

But he does though. “Just move,” he hisses to himself, and something about the harshness of his own tone breaks through. 

Goro straightens, calms as much as he’s able to, and walks to the building. It’s frustratingly all for naught; his belongings, meagre trinkets but still his, are long gone. The landlord seems to think they were collected, although his recollection of something that occurred years ago is understandably vague. Goro assumes that means they were locked up as evidence at the time, most likely already discarded. 

A wasted trip is annoying, and this feels more so as he marches off and into the bustle of more populated areas, gravitating further into Shibuya. He doesn’t really know what to do with his day now; he has the storage unit, but after the trip to his apartment, decides walks down uncomfortable memory lane should probably be spaced out; he’s not exactly confident of his own ability to deal with the past; small doses are best. 

He’s not really paying attention to his surroundings, mostly trying to find a slightly less crowded area, and maybe something to eat. He’s surprised then, by the person who steps in his way, asking him and the few others around him to hold on before crossing the street. 

Coming back to reality, he peers around the barred-off area, to see a camera, and flinches, muscles recalling the old mask he wore for such shoots and appearances. He shudders, really regretting forcing himself to go through all of this, deciding that as soon as he can get some food, he’ll go back to his hotel. 

He looks up, eyes meeting that of one of the people standing at the photo shoot. They both blink, and it takes the minuscule movement of her eyes widening for recognition to flood, a hammer to the chest as it strikes him, hard and messy, any will to avoid the past evaporating. 

Goro’s first thought is how little Ann Takamaki has changed. Eyes still bright with fight and passion, holding herself with a poise that actually seems to have grown more resolute in two years. Her face is precisely how he recalls it, hair just as flawless in the same icy hue. If anything, she seems a little taller, but hard to tell in the ridiculous heels she’s sporting. 

This though, is definitely not supposed to happen. It’s been two years. He shouldn’t be running into people from the past on his first day in town, especially not any of the ex-Phantom Thieves. In fact, he’d have given a part of his soul to not see any of them again. 

It could have been worse, he supposes. It could have been Haru Okumura. Or Akira. 

The best course of action is to leave, and Goro does just that, snapping his gaze away and turning round, or at least he attempts to before a familiar voice reaches his ears. 

“Wait!” Takamaki yells, and despite the fact that he should simply ignore her and run, he obeys. 

This will do no good. Nothing positive will come of this, and he’s aware of that. And yet, he turns around, instantly somewhat impressed that she’s managed to run to the barrier in those heels. 

“Can you just wait, I won’t be long. Please?” she says, a few people around them murmuring, and Goro ends up nodding simply to stop causing a scene. 

She looks relieved of all things, although he sees her turn around and check he’s still there as she returns to her place. He sees someone snap a photo of him, so he ducks away, leaving them to gawp at her while he hides in the background.

He doesn’t know why he stays. Habit perhaps, curiosity an unfortunate second answer. But maybe as she’d asked him to, and his existence is not one which has warranted much of people asking him to stay. 

He clenches his fist, aggravated. To be still driven by such needs is frustrating, but it’s not something that can be cured so simply. He’s working on it, and burying his past will be a way of doing so. He can stomach one conversation to do that. 

It takes a while. But when Takamaki returns she practically runs to him, now in a much more casual jeans and a jumper. 

“Sorry, took longer than expected!” she says, as if this were a usual meeting between acquaintances. 

“Apparently so,” he says, not able to form actual sentences, and the awkwardness settles on them both. 

Takamaki stares at him, eyes wide and blinking, which is unnerving. People don’t really  _ see _ Goro anymore, appraising stares such as this have only been from medical staff. He folds his arms over himself and she seems to start. 

“Well, um, you’re here. I’m glad,” she says, and horrifyingly, it seems genuine. 

He must make a face for she looks around in what seems like desperation before her eyes light up. 

“Let’s get something to eat. I’d...well, I want to talk to you. If you have time?” she says, and Goro finds his nerves fraying. 

“Yes, I assumed,” he says, and she gives him a flat stare which is a pleasant surprise. Of all the Thieves other than Akira, Takamaki is one he’d spent some time with, as despite the multiple layers of deception which marked those times, she’d seemed the most genuine. 

It’s almost a relief to see she does not shy away, flinch or react in hostility which he assumed or has received from the others. A small thing remaining from the past: she still doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He’s glad that hasn’t changed. 

“This place is good, let’s go,” she says, and doesn’t wait for his reply, just turns and walks, leaving him to follow, turning through a few side streets to find a quaint cafe, location well suited for a private conversation. They pick a table near the window, furthest from anyone and yet near the door. A clear escape for anyone. 

“Do you still drink coffee?” she asks.

Goro snorts. “That hasn’t changed,” he says.

Ann smiles before moving to the counter, placing an order quickly and returning. She pauses for a moment. “So, you’re not dead,” she says.

Goro’s last grab at stability fails, and he starts laughing. 

Takamaki watches him as he struggles to control himself, eyebrows raised but she doesn’t interrupt. 

“My apologies, this is all...well, I don’t know what to say. No, I’m very much alive. Although you don’t seem as surprised as I would expect,” he remarks. 

She pauses, and as she does their coffees and sandwiches arrive, giving them both a moment. He doesn’t really know how to talk to people anymore, finds himself juddering between extreme politeness and harsh truths, language odd and stilted. He doesn’t exactly want the practice, but it might have made this encounter easier. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I am surprised to see you like this. But. I always thought you might have survived. You were never...the same, as the other things we saw in Maruki’s world,” she says, and it seems to him that a lot of thought has been placed into his existence. 

It’s warming, although it sets alarm bells ringing. None of this is to plan, and Goro hates plans that go array. 

“I see,” he says. 

She gives him a sad smile. “Akira always believed it too, although I think after two years that may have dimmed a little,” she says, pointedly. 

Less than five minutes into a conversation and she mentioned the one person he is most wanting to avoid. He steadies himself, but her gaze is sharp. 

“I wasn't able to travel for at least a year. I didn’t come out of that ship in the best condition,” he says, and her eyes soften. It’s not pity, he’s learned that look by now, but sadness is clear. 

“It’s not a topic I want to discuss in detail,” he adds, before she can push, his chest tightening, pulling at his breath. 

“I understand. But why now then?” she says instead, and the rising anxiety ebbs. 

“A few legal matters to settle. I left some belongings here in my... abrupt departure that I also wish to collect. I don’t plan on staying long,” he says.

Takamaki’s face pulls through several emotions. “Right. I guess you have a whole new life now,” she says.

Goro scoffs. “Don’t you?” he asks, avoiding the actual answer.

Her smile grows. “I’m working on it. Staying here is the best choice for modelling and school,” she says, and he nods. It seems sensible. 

“Most of the others are still here too. Or close,” she adds, and Goro wonders what her aim is. 

“Well, I hope I don’t run into any of them unawares. Though I am sure they will all know soon,” he says.

She frowns. “I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. But I think they’d want to see you,” she says, and Goro finds his annoyance growing. 

“For gods sake stop the pleasantries, Takamaki, we both know none of you want to see me,” he says.

Her mouth falls open slightly, but her face hardens and she puts down her cup slightly too hard, the sound of porcelain on wood echoing. 

“If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t have asked, Akechi. Stop assuming you know what any of us want,” she snaps, and he’s taken aback by the sharpness of the denial. 

“I’m not going to speak for Haru and Futaba, but I know I’m glad to see you. Even if it’s in a complicated way. I’m pretty certain Yusuke and Ryuji would feel the same. Sae-san certainly would, and I know you and Makoto had your issues, but she’d be happy knowing you’re alive,” she lists, and that’s more people that Goro would have guessed had any semblance of warmth left for him. 

“And I’m really mad you’re not even thinking of seeing Akira while you’re here,” she adds, like a knife to ribs as a final action. 

Air becomes sparse, but he shifts through the rudeness of an issue he didn’t even know he had. 

“Kurusu is here?” he says, and even he can tell the way his tone changes, even if he cannot explain how. 

“When did you move back to formalities? Oh, and please call me Ann, it sounds too strange otherwise,” she says, and he grits his teeth at the avoidance. 

“He’s here. He didn’t stay long in his hometown, he transferred back and finished high school at Shujin,” she explains. 

But there’s something there, he thinks. Something about the way she hesitates before saying more, in the knowledge they are more than a year out of high school and yet that is all she mentions. But then again, it’s not her story to tell. 

“I see,” is all he can muster.

Ann rolls her eyes. “He’s working at Leblanc on Thursday and Friday. Oh, and he also might know where some of your stuff is,” she adds. 

“What?” Goro replies, and Ann grins sweetly, making him nervous. 

“Your apartment was searched for evidence after Shido’s arrest and his confession. When you vanished, they were going to throw away your things, but Akira asked Sae if he could store them. He might have hung onto them,” she says. 

Typical. Now he knows this, he’ll be forever tormented by the information and his belongings potentially hanging around in this city. But Akira Kururus represents one of the strongest aspects he wishes to move on from; Goro’s not sure he’s prepared for a meeting. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

Ann doesn’t seem happy about that, but she lets it lie. Yet before she leaves, once again she surprises him. 

“Take my number. I’d ask for yours but I don’t think you’d give it to me. Just in case you do want to talk again while you’re here,” she says. 

He allows it, thinking he’ll delete it when he’s back at the hotel. It seems too much though to refuse completely. 

“And...think about seeing Akira. A selfish ask I know, but I really do think it will help seeing him,” she says. 

“Help him or me?” he asks, and she smiles softly. 

“Whichever answer is easier for you to deal with. Take care, Akechi,” she says, the last part emphasised, before she leaves with a wave. 

The whole encounter leaves him disturbingly off kilter. He wends his way back to the hotel, picking up a bento on the way, not really seeing anything. His entire time so far has been a haze of confusion and distraction, reality zoning in and out in a way which is uncomfortable if not familiar. 

Staying focused, staying present is not easy. He has lost months of his life in this perpetual dissociation, but he’d thought he’d got a handle on it. This trip is proving more than ever that he has a way to go before life settles. If it ever does. 

He contemplates calling his therapist, but that seems too much like failure on his first day in Tokyo. Instead he spends the rest of the day making plans and finding comfort in order until he cannot keep the thoughts at bay. 

Akira Kurusu. He’d not lied in Maruki’s detestable reality, a life lived created for or controlled by someone else is not a one he wants. He’s no longer so binded by his warped methods of coping, he understands that he had never been the master of his own existence. Gods aside, he’d always, in the back of his mind, known he would never truly succeed in his so-called ideals of destroying Shido and gaining peace. 

Amazing though, what concoctions the mind will come up with to get through pain. Left alone and without other other outlets, their destruction can be all encompassing. 

He’d also not lied in his belief that they would see each other again. Every step of their interactions in that fateful year spoke of more than happenstance, and the inevitability that their paths would cross felt more real to Goro than anything he’d experienced until that moment. 

Although with time, it seems that was more of an in the moment yearning. A teenage wish to be cared for, to have someone waiting and expecting his appearance, a longing to be remembered. With the world falling apart, with the potential of his life snuffing out as if he never mattered at all, that Akira would recall and await him once more, that their strange and striking connection could last was a miracle Goro of two years prior yearned for. 

But he’s changed in those minutes and hours apart, learning to survive and assimilate his past into his present without the presence of his fellow wild card. And it’s working. Not that Goro will proclaim himself at peace or even ‘better’ since that notion is something he feels to be a destructive ideal. He is, in the last year, making progress. And that progress has been formed by being his own self. 

He truly is living as freely as one can. Which means staying far away from Akira. His rival, his comparison point, his may have been friend, his may have been...well, it’s no use living in what could have been. Goro needs to be able to move on from all that occurred, cut off the pathways which drew him to destruction and almost killed him several times over.

But. Although it is a change from his plans, and oh how Goro detests that, it could be advantageous. By finding out what occurred with his belongings straight from the source, and seeing Akira one last time, he can hopefully lay it all to rest. After all, running away has never truly been his style. 

Despite this new determination, it takes him until Friday to actually go through with it. He also for some reason, does not delete Ann’s number, but he doesn’t use it either. Part of him secretly hoped the lawyers would come back with everything tied up neatly and he could see Akira, close off this corner of his life and be done with it. But of course, no such luck.  He feels awful on Thursday, spends most of it sleeping and battling against an overwhelming need to scream and vanish into nothing , but Friday, the world seems somewhat more even. 

It’s hard, going back to Yongen-Jaya. More so than his own apartment, which housed a multitude of bad memories, but this journey is twisted with good ones. Goro has lied about many things, but he always somehow managed to be painfully honest with Akira; part of his downfall. 

Leblanc and the attic Akira lived in did always feel more homey than any place Goro has lived. The slow walk has his shoulders lifting, burdens trailing away just like they did when he was eighteen, and he could play a different type of pretend that was oddly soothing despite the eventuality of his role. Nothing in this area has changed, the streets seem frozen in time, and he could for all intents and purposes, be making his way to needle Akira into a game of chess after cram school. 

But he is not, as he forcibly reminds himself, as he turns down the narrow street. Everything is different now, despite how memory tricks itself into believing otherwise. He hesitates, probably for too long by the stares of curious locals, and then, with nothing more than a steading breath, pushes open the door. 

The bell rings, and his steps falter for a moment, yet he pushes on. And then with just a few heavy movements, he is inside. 

At first, it looks the same. Exactly the same, in its emptiness and low lighting, which is comforting. But as his eyes adjust to the gloom, he notices subtle changes. By the Sayuri, is a new painting, entirely different in it’s compositing, abstract and burning it’s brightness, an explosion of light that instantly lifts Goro’s sprints. The booths have been reupholstered, and there’s a newer television in the corner, but still turned to the same channels Sakura-san always played when Goro was here. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” calls a voice, and Goro’s throat closes as he steps forward, moving sluggishly to the counter as the low tamber echoes from the small kitchen. 

He wants more time. More time to think of a greeting, to regret this, to embrace this, but he doesn’t have it, as barely a moment later Akira Kurusu walks in. 

He freezes on seeing Goro, so still and so clearly shocked in a way that Goro is not used to seeing on him; Akira was always either so ready for anything as Joker or a steady, resolute presence when himself. To see him so genuinely floored is a change, one Goro is oddly pleased at. 

He’s taller, Goro notes. Hair still the same chaotic mess that somehow looks good, if a little longer. He does though, have a gaunt edge to him; cheeks veering hollow, eyes wide behind his glasses but circled with dark lines. A spark of worry ignites, an old kindling dry and lacking, that worry for someone he was always destined to hurt, a concern that echoed despite it all. 

“Goro?” he says, and the use of his first name is a slice out of his heart. Despite his insistence with Ann, he cannot bring himself to revert to formalities. 

“Hello, Akira. It’s been a while.” 

The pain in his heart sweeps to his head, the café dimming into a tunnel of vision of simply  _ Akira  _ framed by silver and red as the backing of the location blurred, the epicentre of Goro’s world for a glorious second, before the café appears, and he blinks himself back into the moment. 

Akira’s hands seem to not know what to do with themselves, twisting in his apron even while his face brightens into a small if hopeful smile. 

“Take a seat,” he says, nodding towards the counter, and it takes Goro a moment to recall how to walk, until he can stiffly make his way to the stool. 

Akira turns and starts grabbing the ingredients to make a coffee which Goro hasn’t asked for, although this is another routine of theirs. By the time their association ended, Goro didn’t even ask, he’d turn up to have his favourite brew pushed across the counter, a smile for his trouble. 

Now he senses Akira is doing this just to diffuse some of the obvious tension building, and Goro is thankful for that. As he grinds the beans, the nostalgic scent fills the room. His eyes sting, tears build behind them and he is so annoyed at how much it invokes in him. Akira thankfully has his back to him, so doesn’t see Goro have to wipe at his eyes and steady his nerves. 

As Akira completes the brewing process, the familiarity of the aroma strikes Goro and he leans forward. 

“You remember the exact blend? And you still carry it?” he says, trying to minimise the impact with the second question. 

Akira chucks, short and low. “Coffee doesn’t go out of fashion. When it’s good, it’s good. And yes, I do. I remember all my friends’ favourite drinks,” he says. 

Goro is amazed he can say ‘friend’ without inflection, tack it onto the sentence and speak it with what seems like truth. Akira turns to pour over the water, the same movement Goro recalls, is nothing unusual and yet has always looked wrong when performed by other baristas. 

Unlike in previous years, Akira pushes the cream and sugar over with the cup. 

“Tastes do change though,” he says, words weighted, and moves back to pour his own cup. 

Goro hesitates for a moment, watches the slight, too quick motion. His nerves seem to be based in his hands today, a quirk Goro never noticed in all their time together. He sighs, reaching forward, adding the creamer and half a sugar. 

He can feel Akira watching as he does, and he lifts the cup, holding it to his lips as he takes a sip. His eyes slip shut unawares; it’s good, it might actually be better than his memories, Akira’s skill having improved over time, but he thinks it may be more than that. That soothing nostalgia, that seems to be a constant in these days, with the underlying bitterness of all that was hidden. 

Yet it’s sweet, the blend and the combination of sugar and cream, lightening everything and returning Goro to one of the few places which felt like he imagined home should. Coffee isn’t meant to be calming, and of course it does energise, but not just as a stimulant. This taste, in this atmosphere, gives him life in a way that few things could when he was a mannequin of too many masks, brittle and empty when all removed. 

And now it does the same, when he’s still brittle but real, a more dangerous combination of fractures pieced together in a pattern not secure enough to function, but glued close enough to keep moving. It warms, it ignites, it cools and settles. He opens his eyes, and Akira is openly staring, waiting on edge. So Goro smiles, is helpless to do anything else. For once though, that doesn’t bother him. 

“Some things though, don’t change,” he says, a true softness in his tone which has been absent for some time. 

Akira smiles too, reaching for the cream and adding a small dash to his own coffee. Again, it’s the same, having once told Goro that this particular blend always suited a little sweetness cutting through. 

“That’s good,” he says, and he leans over the counter, watching as Goro takes his second sip. 

The silence is not comfortable, and Goro is useless at sitting in tension without speaking. 

“I am surprised to see you here,” he says, and Akira snorts, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Well, I suppose I deserve that. But I imagined after all that happened, you’d have welcomed a change of pace,” he says. 

Akira shakes his head. “Not all of us want to run,” he says, and Goro bristles, his thoughts from early in the week returning. 

“Straight to it. All right, I’m sure you have questions,” he says, and Akira stares straight at him. 

“It depends if you have answers,” he says, and Goro sneers. 

“Cut the crap, Akira. Just say what you want to say,” he snaps, and Akira’s eyes widen. Then, surprisingly he smiles. 

“There you are,” he says, and the words send a shiver, the hairs on the back of Goro’s neck rising. But Akira instead moves, pushing his cup across the counter and walking around. He takes the stool near Goro, dragging it back a little for space, then settles down with the cup. 

It’s much like it would be after school, Sakura-san giving Akira a break when it was just the two of them. Goro swallows. 

“I don’t really know where to start. You’re alive, it’s been two years, you’re suddenly back. There’s some obvious questions, but I’m going to assume some you won’t want to answer. And that’s no pressure to answer anything,” he adds, and Goro hates just how kind he still is. 

“Try me,” he says instead, adding teeth to his smile. Akira’s own lifts, just as razor sharp. 

“Okay. Why now?” he says, sipping his coffee as he waits. 

This is one of the easier answers. “I have some legal issues to finalise over my father’s assets. They needed to be done in person,” he says, easy now he’s already spoken to Ann, and Akira nods slowly. 

“Although I’m sure you could have requested an intermediary. Or settled it on email. There’s very few reasons to do things in person, nowadays,” he says, slow and without blinking. 

Goro hands tighten on the cup and he sets it down carefully. 

“Are you going to challenge everything I say?” he says, and Akira shrugs. 

“Depends if you’ll tell me the truth or not,” he says, and Goro sneers. 

“So much for the no pressure,” he snarls, and to his shock Akira freezes. His hand placed on the counter trembles, as he lets out a breath shakily. 

“Right, yeah. Sorry, that was...I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, breath stuttering just as much as his hands. 

Goro stares. This is not the Akira he remembers. Akira Kurusu of two years ago would know when he was pushing Goro too much, and that had barely been a scratch. Akira would call him out on his shit, gently but with no room for pretence. 

He would never back down, fade out like this. It’s the second time he’s wondered, and combined with Ann’s twist of conversation previously, he’s starting to think something happened. Something in these years which has changed Akira in ways which immediately spark worry, an emotion he has never really known what to do with when focused on Akira. 

“You are correct though, I suppose. I didn’t exactly fight it, when they asked. So why now? I had the opportunity, and well. It seems inevitable I would return,” he says.

Akira’s head lifts as he speaks. “Where are you living now?” he asks, 

Goro considers. “North of here. Various places. A secure hospital, mostly, until six months ago,” he says. 

“Hospital,” Akira repeats, tone carefully neutral. 

Goro inhales, his back immediately starting to itch. He resists the urge to move even a centimetre. He takes a sip of his coffee as he weighs up his options on exactly what to tell. 

“I don’t remember how I got out of the ship, so there is no point in that question. My wounds though, were extensive. I was hospitalised for a while, in rehabilitation after that. I broke several bones, had a nasty head injury, and needed skin graphs for the burns,” he says, amazed actually that he can keep himself as steady as he does through the summary. 

Akira’s hand inches forward, reaching out but stopping, falling back. The air is too thick to breathe suddenly, and Goro swallows, throat clicking. 

“In the past, not worth dwelling on,” he mutters and Akira looks as if he;s going to protest, and Goro is thrown back to another conversation yet this time Akira says nothing. 

Definitely something wrong. 

Goro though, is tired of an interview, so instead gestures with his cup. “And you? I was surprised to hear you’re still in this place,” he says. 

Akira flinches. It’s subtle and covered well but he does. Goro marks his wording to think on later. 

“Who’s been telling you things?” he asks, and Goro sighs heavily. 

“Ann. The mastermind behind this meeting,” he says, and the levity he expects from that is lacking, so Goro elaborates. “I saw her on a shoot, an utter coincidence,” he says. 

“Ah. Yes, she’s doing well, heading a campaign for shoes. Still just about managing to study too,” he says, which does explain the elaborate footwear.

Goro raises an eyebrow, and Akira lifts a hand to tug at his hair. The motion hits Goro in the chest, such a familiar tick. 

“I tried the college thing. Didn’t work out. Just...thinking what the next step is. Working while I do,” he says, shrugging. 

Logical, a good idea. And in many ways, Goro can understand Akira not suiting further education with the time he had at that shitty high school. But that undercurrent which has framed all this conversation settles, and he knows there’s more in this. 

“I got a door though,” Akira suddenly says with a grin, nodding to behind Goro. 

He turns and sees that indeed, there is now a door blocking the steps up to the attic, the stairs even looking newer. He smiles, recalling with a pang Akira’s sparse, hardly functional living space. He hopes he’s no longer sleeping on crates, has more than a half operational space heater. 

“A good addition. Ann mentioned you may have some of my belongings, from my old apartment,” Goro says, seizing the opportunity. 

“So that’s why,” he says, so soft Goro barely catches it, but he moves on before Goro can speak. 

“I do, but not here. I’ll get it this weekend, if you want to come back round Monday? Sorry, I kept it here for a while, but…” he trails off with a shrug, rubbing the back of his head. 

Goro grimaces. Another delay, another forced return. But it can’t be helped. He drains the last of his coffee, and attempts a smile, standing. 

“Monday it is then. Thank you, Akira, for the coffee,” he says, reaching for his wallet. 

“Don’t even try to. It’s on me. And I’ll see you then,” he says, a statement and not a question, standing too. 

Goro shrugs on his coat, caught between desperately wanting to flee back to the starkness of his hotel room and the wish to linger, soaking up the calmness this place brings. But the awkwardness and potential of having to discuss more of the vanished time has him moving to the door. 

“One last thing,” Akira calls, as he opens it. 

Goro turns, and Akira exhales, not looking at him. “Were you in Tokyo around April two years ago?” 

Goro blinks. “No, I wasn’t. I was still in hospital.” 

Akira inhales, and Goro hovers. He’s still, extremely so, and Goro’s concern spikes. Then like a bubble being popped, Akira relaxes, and nods again, a silent dismissal. Impressive, truth be told, how he constructs that normalcy. Still though, Goro takes a second, the strangeness of the moment purveying, but there is nothing left to be said or done. So he takes his leave, closing the door softly behind him. 

His body allows him a few moments of respite before the headache hits. Goro actually staggers at the intensity, everything dull and marked with shadows. He leans against a low wall near the alley entrance, breathing hard until the world rights. The distant, but somewhat eerie jingle from a store or passing car echoes, which should put him to rest. But it doesn’t feel right, even as he straightens. 

Something out of the corner of his eye makes him turn, his body moving sluggishly through the headache. The awning of Leblanc seems to glow, a little too red, a little too sharp, and then it fades back for a second. 

“What the hell,” he mutters, then drops his forehead to his palm. He has sleeping pills in the hotel, he can knock himself out for the night, probably needing more sleep. 

He’ll have migraines for the rest of time, or so the doctor tells him. The fading in and out of reality, the darkness crawling, it’s all things he’s seen before. It’s just usually a creeping thing, allowing him time to dim the lights and crawl into bed. The sudden ebb and flow of these is unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Goro’s body decided to give him a brand new set of symptoms. 

He ponders the conversation all the way back to the hotel. He cannot be sure, but there is definitely something amiss with Akira. He tries though, to let it rest. Akira is no longer his concern, wasn’t ever really despite how he became something to Goro. Something he never quite managed to name, rival and friend never really cutting it, but as good as language could do. Enemy perhaps, but Goro never truly saw him as such. 

It's hard though, having spent so long analysing every twitch of a person, to start dismissing them, even with the gap in time. It’s unnerving how quickly Goro can slip back into part of his old roles; another reason why this trip is most likely ill advised. 

He gets back to his hotel and collapses into bed, despite the fact it’s barely evening. He has no timetable to keep, another reason he’s probably struggling, so decides at least to see if one of his old favourite restaurants is still open. 

He flicks open his phone, then promptly drops it on the bed. 

He sits up, almost backing away from the device, staring. His hand shakes coming to brush his hair out of his eyes, exhaling. 

“Don’t be so stupid,” he mutters to himself, but it still takes him a moment to reach out, pick up the device and unlock it. 

And yet, the app is still there. The familiar eye, bathed in red, back on his phone and appears in his recently used apps as if it never left. 

“Fuck,” he says eloquently, the immediately has to rush to the bathroom, feeling nauseous. 

As he bends over the sink, bile rising, his thoughts clamour for attention; memories, dreams, fears they all rush in a second. The first time he opened that app, the way he’d cried himself hoarse at being so lost in a world he didn’t understand. Tirelessly stalking targets while framed in shadow, the slight lifting of his heart with the presence of his white uniform, the twisting rush of sending himself berserk when needed. And underlying it all, the heavy beat of the metaverse, pulling him, swarming him, curving the world around-

Everything halts. Slowly he lifts his head, the sickness vanishing as his mind clicks broken puzzle pieces in an order which does not match yet fits anyway. When he looks into his own eyes he sees one thing: fear. 

And for once, he’s not angry with himself for all that. 

* * *

“I love this place, a good choice,” Ann says, sliding into the seat. She smiles brightly over the menu, far more casual today, yet still with an impeccable air of style that Goro is oddly envious of. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner,” he says, and she shakes her head. 

“I’m happy you asked, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” she says, and he swallows hard. 

“Yes, well. I do have a reason,” he tries, and for once it’s going to be incredibly hard to get the words out. 

“I did think so,” she says, although she doesn’t seem upset about it. 

Which makes it worse. He’s going to crush that smile, that carefreeness from her gaze. Once upon a time, he may have revelled in that. And now, without even following his plan through, he feels awful. 

He’d lasted twelve hours before contacting her. He’d run it through in his head, but she has to know. He’s almost certain the app hasn’t appeared for her, or their first meeting would have gone differently. Which means the difficulty of the conversation will only increase. 

They order, and Goro finds himself hesitant to do anything. Ann is chatty, and the universe has always hated him, so he manages to fall into stilted but enjoyable conversation through their meal, and until the plates are taken. It is Ann who allows him a conversation starter. 

“Akira mentioned you visited,” she says, looking pleased as he tries to smile back. 

“Yes, I did. He’ll be collecting my belongings for Monday,” he says, and Ann nods. 

“That’s good, I knew he’d hold onto them,” she says. 

He has to do it. He inhales once, but still has to force the words out. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you? How he’s changed,” he says, and Ann’s eyes widen, small falling. 

“W-well we all change. Sure, I was surprised he dropped out of college, but he wasn’t happy there,” she tries, and Goro can see the cracks appearing. 

“It’s more than that though, isn’t it? And knowing Akira, he’ll have insisted he’s fine. Even though you can all see it’s clearly a lie,” he says. 

“Because you’re the expert on Akira,” she says, coldness in her tone, all mirth gone. 

In a way, this is better. It makes the next part easier. Goro pulls his phone from his pocket and moves it across the table. Ann’s eyes follow it, a small frown on her face, which clears into the mirror of what he’s seen in himself last night: fear. 

“No,” she whispers, soft and scared, sounding exactly like the teenager of his memories. Her gaze flickers up to him, anger heating the look. 

“This is a joke. What the hell are you doing?” she says, and he cannot help but laugh. 

“A nice try, but why would I joke about this of all things? You think I’m clamouring for the glory days? I know you’re not that stupid,” he says, and she swallows hard, gaze flickering between it and him. 

“We destroyed the metaverse. This isn’t possible. I-I don’t have it, the others would have said if they did,” she says, and Goro’s resolve stoppers somewhat, sadness remaining. 

“I assumed so. You were right all those years ago, when you said I couldn’t do it alone. Which is why I’m...well, just know I am truly sorry for this,” he says. 

Ann’s eyes cross to him, confusion in her gaze as he takes the phone back. He lifts it up, eyes locked on hers, but the resolve stays. 

“Akira Kurusu.”

_ Candidate found.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey.” 
> 
> Goro looks up, having not moved with the crowd to see Sakura is standing near. Morgana has remained close, eyes training on her, a guardian in case she needs. Of what he doesn’t know; as if he’s really going to do or say anything in these circumstances. 
> 
> “Can I help you, Sakura?” he says as evenly as possible. 
> 
> She makes a face. “You can start by calling me by my name, that’s just weird. And...yeah. I want to talk to you,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the support so far, thank you everyone! 
> 
> Time to throw lore out the window somewhat...anyway, thank you to my lovely beta MxTicketyBoo <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy the next part!

It takes Ann less time than he expects to come to terms with it. She leaves dinner almost in tears, waving off any attempts of his to ensure she gets home safely. He doesn’t really know how to approach it but thankfully, he wakes the next morning by her calling at 7.10am. 

“Sorry, I’m on my way to an early job. But...we need to talk. Are you free this morning?” 

Which is how Goro meets her in a café near the location a few hours later. She looks exhausted, her eyes slightly red rimmed, fresh faced enough for him to tell she’s scrubbed off make up, but he doesn’t comment. Simply orders two strong coffees and two extremely sweet looking cakes, then takes a seat opposite her. 

“Sorry for running out on you. I didn’t...it’s just-” 

“It’s fine,” he says, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness. 

She tries for a smile, fails and instead retrieves her phone, pushing it towards him. He’s unsurprised to see the app there. 

“Not sure when it appeared. I saw it before I went to sleep. I...I don’t know how this is possible. Or how it got this bad,” she says 

He’s saved from answering by their order arriving, Ann blinking at the cake. She manages a real laugh then. 

“I really need this, thank you,” she says, taking a huge bite. 

“Me too,” he admits, the cake being the first thing he’s eaten all day. Who needs a healthy diet when apparently his former rival has a palace? Even the thought makes his nerves fracture, so he too eats a mouthful. 

“It shouldn’t be possible for this to happen, but I never was the expert. I think we need to tell the others,” she says after they’ve both had a moment to themselves. 

Goro sits back for a second. “I did force you into this. It was only after my intervention that the app appeared. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He’s been thinking about it all night. Although at the time he’d been focused on not facing Akira’s palace alone, he’d not given her a choice in the matter. Who was he to demand she suddenly be thrown into a world she’d been brought into due to hideous circumstances in the first place? It’s no better than the god deciding he should represent its cursed aims. 

“What? Akechi, this is  _ Akira _ . If you hadn’t told me I’d be so mad at you,” she says, staring over with hard eyes. When he does nothing she frowns. 

“He’s my best friend. And if any of my friends had a Palace, I’d want to know. Immediately,” she says.

He leans forward. “I saw how you reacted. You didn’t want anything to do with the metaverse again.”

“And you did? You should see your own face, Akechi. I know you’re just as haunted as we are. Probably more so,” she adds and he sits back, not looking at her, picking at her cake. 

They know too much of him. For people who were never truly his friends, he’d still managed to carve out his own heart and throw it to them on a platter. He’d never thought he’d need to face the repercussions of that. He’d been so beside himself with the pain of failure, with the knowledge his existence would end, that screaming out his tormented thoughts mattered little. Now, he’s eating cake with one of them. It’s too awkward to even fully assimilate into his mind. 

There’s a sigh and she taps the table. “I’m sorry. I just...well, it’s not the time. But we’re not kids anymore, and we’ve all had time to think on these things. I’d like to never see that app on my phone again, but there’s no way I’m letting this go. And I’m guessing that’s why it’s on my phone. Which is my decision,” she says, and he manages to glance over, seeing her smiling softly. 

“So you believe this is a choice?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Honestly, we need Futaba and Makoto for these conversations. And Morgana,” she adds. 

“Ah yes, I didn’t see him with Akira,” he says.

“He mostly stays with Futaba, did so when Akira went to college. Kinda stayed that way,” she explains and Goro nods, even as a realisation crawls, the cake coagulation in his stomach. 

“Then you want to let them all know. And explain how this all happened,” he says, feeling his hands tighten on the cup and Ann nods. 

“Yes. We all know how this goes. Did you try any other keywords?” she asks.

Goro shakes his head.  “I can’t say I have. The name is...well, it was enough of a guess,” he says.

Ann nods.  “ Yeah, I can’t bring myself to think about it either. I wonder how long it’s existed. How long we...we didn’t see,” she says, trailing off with a whisper. 

Goro winces. He’s terrible at comforting others, the only person he’s ever felt got it right with him being Akira. He takes a sip of coffee and decides he may as well try. It probably can’t get any worse. 

“He’s never really been one to talk about problems. I can see him keeping things quiet. It’s not your fault,” he says. 

Ann shakes her head rapidly. “To the extent of having a Palace? I thought...okay, this isn’t helping. We can’t change what’s already happened,” she says, and he finds himself admiring how quickly she focuses on the present. 

“I cannot imagine seeing me, and the news I bring is going to make this easy,” he says, and Ann laughs. 

“When has any of this been easy?” she says, and he cannot help but match her grin. 

They finish up their snacks and Ann checks the time, stating she has a study group meeting soon. 

“I’ll text you with the time and place. I’ll tell them so it’s not a surprise, but I guess Futaba already knows if you went to Leblanc,” she says as she stands. 

“She still likes to bug things?” he asks with almost fondness.

Ann laughs. “More than ever,” she replies as they head outside, the world around them seeming far more strange with the knowledge he now has. 

She hesitates, then slowly she turns, before inching forward. Goro doesn’t stop her, but still stiffens as she wraps her arms around him. The sensation across the top of his arms is strange. Especially as he can barely feel it on his back, but he lets her hug him. It’s...not as detestable as he’d imagined. 

“I’ll make sure we don’t take too long,” she promises, and that’s the last he gets before she vanishes off and he’s left waiting. 

And he really hates waiting. 

The whole progression leaves an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Too much of this so far has been like reliving the past; sitting on the side-lines, one person his in, while the rest judge his worthiness. This time though, it’s Ann giving him a lifeline, and Akira the one they need to save. Everything is the same yet somehow twisted into a worse version. 

Goro wishes he could distract himself but it seems futile. So he rides the train back to his hotel and goes back over what he knows. The app wasn’t on his phone before he saw Akira, and yet, looking back on it, he’d been slipping into the metaverse far before that. The headaches, the shadows, the sluggish movement of time...it is somewhat similar. 

But different once more. It had never hurt to be there, not in a physical sense. And he saw no Shadows, but that could be simply as he’d not really crossed over. But several times since he arrived he’d been pulled into Akira’s palace, even if he’s not fully manifested. 

Which leaves him with a series of problems, and not many he wishes to contemplate. But he will have to; if Ann can discuss the situation with the other Thieves, they will potentially be all in this together, and Goro will have to theories. But this is an issue for another day. 

He ends up, instead trying to cheer himself up by going somewhere he’d previously enjoyed: the aquarium. Of course being a weekend it’s crowded, but not overly so, and without thinking, he buys a ticket and makes his way slowly through the exhibits. 

It truly is a beautiful display, only expanding since the last time he visited. The colours and the languid swimming of the fish has his heart beating a slow rhythm, breathing easy as he absorbs new and old information. Children run past, adults pointing out different things, some bored, others curious, eyes alight with information. 

He wonders if he’d have been so fascinated as a child if brought to somewhere like this. His mother had barely any daylight hours for him, but when she did, she preferred galleries. She’d hold him up to portraits modern and ancient, ask him what he liked about the piece. She’d buy him a tiny souvenir occasionally, and he’d spend hours after trying to capture the essence of pieces on paper and crayon, their small apartment covered in terrible scribbles, much better than the decaying paintwork. 

He waves the thought to the back of his mind. As Ann had said, no use in thinking of the past. Goro walks a little faster, then smiles as he arrives in the tunnel, the fish swarming overhead as he meanders through. At the end he sees a couple; close, almost touching, but not quite. An early date, he surmises, as he watches one explain a fact to the other, not noticing their partner staring utterly at their face and not at the display. 

It reminds him of a time before, and yet he doesn’t allow that to stick. It’s not the same, nothing ever was. Time and wondering leads moments to be corrupted, diverting from what they were. And Goro will not allow himself to fade away on such notions. 

He quickly leaves the tunnel, back out into the open area, stingrays in the tank before him. It feels easier to breathe here. As he does, his phone vibrates, Ann’s name appearing on the screen. 

_ Can you make it to my apartment at 2pm tomorrow? I’ve talked with the others, so they know you’ll be there.  _

He doesn’t hesitate. 

_ Yes, I’ll join you.  _

* * *

Ann’s apartment complex turns out to be a collection of luxury suites, doorman checking his name and making a call before waving Goro in. He takes the elevator to the eighth floor, rolling his eyes at the ornate marble decorating most of the surfaces. He has been to many of these types of places, but it’s been a while. He’s extremely surprised this is where Ann lives. 

“Hey, come in,” she greets, opening the door into the huge apartment, which despite the space is still cluttered with objects. 

Most of the homes of this grandeur Goro has seen are impeccably decorated with expensive art and sparse areas to show off just how much square footage they’ve purchased. It’s far nicer to step inside and see a wall full of photos, a huge pink jumper thrown over the side of a dark leather couch, and a half-drunk tea on the glass coffee table next to a toppling stack of magazines and school books. 

“This is my parent’s place.” 

He turns, looking to Ann, who is leaning over the counter of the marble kitchen table. 

“You have the same look everyone does the first time they come over. My parents own this suite, but they’re currently somewhere in Europe,” she explains.

Goro frowns. “They just let you live here?”

She nods. “Been that way since high school. They come by, used to for months but nowadays they know I can stay here alone. So, more space for me,” she says, with a smile that is genuine, yet underlined with sorrow. 

Goro has occasionally wondered what would be worse: no parents, like him, or absent parents like Akira and apparently Ann. He’s never known a loving family, but they, to some degree, have. The potential and memory is there, but they’re distanced from it. Is it more painful to have the chance, but these adults take it away, or it never exists at all? He’s never landed on an answer. 

“So, you explained everything?” he says, as Ann gestures to a seat. 

“More or less. I told them about you, and showed them the app. We decided that a day was all we could spare to think about it. It’s important those of us who want to act do so quickly. But it’s up to them. I don’t know who will show,” she says, and Goro nods. 

It’s best this way, to only have those who wish to participate. Akira means a lot to all of them, or did in the past, and he doesn’t think that’s changed. But going into the metaverse is a huge ask. Part of him hopes he and Ann are the only attendees, while the more tactical side knows they need the largest party they can to face a former Wild Card and his Palace. 

There’s also another question. “They know about me,” he confirms, even though Ann had already said so. 

She gives him a tight smile. “Yes, I told them how you were the first to find out. Futaba did already know you were back. The others do now too. Would you like something to drink?” she says, effectively ending the conversation even though Goro is itching to know how it went. 

He’s glad he wasn’t there. He cannot imagine the conversation that would have erupted with the revelation. He also knows that his role in this will probably impact who attends. After all, he double crossed them, hurt Okumura and Sakura more than words can express. They did work with him under duress to face Maruki, but that was under Akira’s leadership, and as it turned out, he wasn’t truly there in the first place. Without Akira, that one trust is broken and he is undoubtedly real this time. 

He ends up taking a soda from Ann, the fizz matching the feeling in his head, the tapping of his fingers on the table. Time crawls by, and 2pm passes, Ann’s eyes looking to her watch with each passing second. 

Then, the phone by the door rings. She jumps up, answering quickly, and she smiles with glee as she’s informed who will be arriving. Goro doesn’t ask, Ann’s attention focused on the doorway, throwing it open as he watches. 

“Sorry, this guy got distracted.” 

“Absurd, we were already late when you arrived, Ryuji.”

“I really don’t care whose fault it is, just get in here,” Ann says with a laugh, and Goro watches as Ryuji Sakamoto and Yusuke Kitagawa enter. 

They strike up some conversation he is no longer listening to as Goro moves into observation mode. Kitagawa looks exactly the same, except for being even taller, probably now towering above Goro, but other than that it’s almost uncanny how he hasn’t changed. Including the startlingly ugly red and green shirt he’s wearing. 

Sakamoto though, seems different. His hair is still the same garish shade, but styled with more precision. He’s also wearing a far more subdued clothing, gone with the bright logos and down to block colours of a blue and black sweater, dark jeans finishing his outfit. He also stands straighter, none of the slouch of his youth. It almost brings a smile to Goro’s face; it’s a good look on him. 

“Well, you weren’t lying. Goro Akechi,” he says.

Goro feels the need to stand up as he’s addressed. “Sakamoto, Kitagawa. Hello again,” he says. 

There’s a strained silence as they all stare, Ann included, before Sakamoto makes a face. 

“Urg, please dude, don’t call me that. First name, or it’s too weird,” he says, waving a hand as he walks forward and straight to Ann’s fridge, who doesn’t protest. 

“I would request the same. It’s been many years,” Yusuke says, as he follows, eyes trained on Goro as he follows Ann and moves to stand on the opposite side of the table. 

“Yeah, and no word at all. What’s with that?” Ryuji calls from the fridge, and Goro grimaces, something about the tone triggering his nerves, despite the fact he’s already given an abridged version to Akira.

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” he says icily. 

Yusuke’s eyebrows rise. “I believe if we’re working together, some truth is needed,” he says, voice hard in a way Goro recalls, but not usually aimed in his direction. 

Ryuji closes the fridge, two sodas in hand, giving one to Yusuke, who takes it without removing his eyes from Goro. He looks between them all and shrugs. 

“Yeah. I mean you come back after over two years, figure out Akira has a damn Palace and you expect us just to ignore everything?” he says, and Yusuke nods once. 

It’s not hostile, more wary, and clearly there’s not much trust here. Understandably, he’s never earned any. This is actually far easier to deal with than he expects. 

He exhales. “I will do what I can to make this task easier,” he says, and all three of them exchange glances. 

“In your own time,” Ann says softly, and Goro shakes his head, turning away, and yet he doesn’t miss the other two’s agreeing nods.

There’s no time for further debate though, as Ann’s phone rings. She jumps, joy back in her face, as she listens to the voice then swings round to stare at them. 

“It’s all of them!” she says, almost bouncing on her heels. 

Ryuji snorts. “What do you expect? We’re not gonna just leave Akira like that, hell no!” 

“I agree, but I wouldn’t fault any of us for deciding not to. After all, I’m not exactly pleased about having to use these powers again,” Yusuke says, and Goro catches his eye. 

An understanding passes between them; Goro senses that they feel similarly about returning to their old selves, while Ryuji seems more inclined to use the powers again. While Goro can’t say he feels that, he does acknowledge that having the abilities they did came with a sense of control and power. Missing it is understandable. For him though, the price had always been too high. He just couldn’t see it at the time. 

Ann opens the door and Goro finds his breath catching as the voice floats through. 

“I’m so sorry for the delay, parking was a problem.” 

He braces himself but it still takes a lot of energy to meet the eyes of Haru Okumura as she enters. Her eyes immediately find his, probably a deliberate action, and she stiffens in readiness, much like she once did before facing an enemy. Which he undoubtedly still is in her mind. 

Necessity bred acceptance in the past, nothing more. It was probably a relief to her when it turned out he wasn’t really alive. He killed her family, and he knows exactly what they can do to a person. Knowledge of how cruel and how much suffering her father bestowed upon others does not remove the fact that he was hers. Convoluted emotions, things he’d rather crush than exhaust himself over, but he’s tried and tested this method. It doesn’t work. 

So he stands until her gaze slides away, shoulders tense and another voice breaks over. 

“Well, well, we’re all here and ready for the most awkward conversation of the century. Can’t wait.” 

“Futaba, really?” Makoto Nijima says with a sigh, and crosses over to Okumara. 

She looks more like her sister than ever, but it might just be the hair, no longer short and braided, but hanging just past her shoulders. Haru’s hair has also grown, but both remain rather similar to Goro’s memories, although both look tremendously tired. 

It is, though, Futaba Sakura who has changed dramatically. She’s so much taller, probably closer to Ann’s height now, and although she stands behind the other two women, she’s lost that cowering nature he recalls from when she’d barely seen the outside world. She must now have just started her final year of high school, and he wonders if she’s taking classes in person, or even if she’s switched straight to college. 

She’s also cut her hair so it sits curling under her chin, the headphone still resting round her neck, but the sweatshirt she wears almost too small in the arms, pushed up to hide it with her tall frame. When their eyes meet, her lips lift, not quite a smile, but something, yet she turns away swiftly.

On her shoulder, sits Morgana, the only one of the team to look exactly the same. The cat blinks, wide eyes taking in Goro, but he gains no sense of hostility there. He sighs to himself, looking back at his half finished soda. He’s already tired from all these people and feelings. 

“Okay, let me get snacks and then we’ll...start,” Ann says, in an almost bewildered voice. 

Goro just about holds himself back from rolling his eyes at how useless they are without Akira driving this meeting, although they must have done so many in their time as Thieves. But it’s a dark humour that he thinks won’t be appreciated considering the circumstances. 

They all slowly crowd, Goro turning and taking his own seat once again, allowing them to pick their places amongst him, much like he did two years ago. It’s not quite the animosity of the past, but he can feel all their gazes trained on him. 

He jumps when Morgana hops in front of him, settling down and staring at him with those piercing eyes. 

“How are you?” he asks, tone low and compassion clear. It makes Goro’s jaw clench, but the creature had been present for Maruki’s big reveal. He can’t stand the pity, immediately spiralling him to anger. 

“Oh just fantastic, and you?” he says with as much bite as possible. The cat however, doesn’t seem the least put out, which aggravates him further. 

“Yeah. I’ll bet. It’s good to see you though,” Morgana says, and to Goro’s horror, turns and settles to his left, near when Ann has taken a seat next to him. 

The anger, having burned so brightly mere seconds before, extinguishes. The flares still happen, he hasn’t managed to actually control the sudden spikes of rage, but he has made them short lived, either from his own fatigue or using the counting technique. Nowadays, it’s just so exhausting being angry all the time; Goro thinks he’s burned at least a decade of his lifespan from doing so. And before, that had been the aim in many ways. Now, he’s trying to temper it. 

Once again, he’s almost wistful for being numb. Almost. 

Once they’re settled, Nijimia clears her throat, capturing their attention. He experiences the sudden need to mock and gloat, a remnant of the past; she always did relish in the chance to be leader, hated when he proved himself smarter than her. She’d considered him her rival, which made him laugh at the time, she’d barely registered on his radar until she became a Phantom Thief. 

Those thoughts drain though, leaving stains behind which stick and slice, tiny barbs to the heart. They’re stupid thoughts really, belonging to a childish time, even though he considered himself so above that. He’d been cruel to her because he could; because he could read her easily and say exactly what would rile her up. She didn’t deserve it, and his mind then couldn’t stop doing it. 

He’s full of these tiny twisted pieces that make up a whole. Slowly, he’s picking through them, but at times new ones emerge. He’d forgotten this particular brand, regrets it now. He liked to hurt because he could and because it was all he could feel. Any chance to steal happiness gave him a false high. Grotesque, now he comes to think on it. 

This though, goes into dangerous territory, and he doesn’t have the time to be insular, instead focusing on Niijima as she begins. 

“Well, we know why we’re here,” she says, then takes her phone from her pocket, placing it in the centre of the table. 

“Akira Kurusu,” she says, the phone replying once again with  _ candidate found _ .

There’s a general tensing of the group, and she sits back, appraising them. “We need to discuss how we approach this. We’re hardly experts at the metaverse anymore. That is, if we decide to go in at all,” she says, and that sparks Goro’s attention. 

“Of course we’re gonna go in!” Ryuji yells, but it’s Okumura who replies. 

“I think Mako-chan is right. I’m not sure about all of you, but what we did back then wasn’t always correct. This is Akira. We need to decide if we want to steal his heart. If this is the right thing to do,” she says, keeping her tone even. 

Goro is shocked. He’d imagined the Phantom Thieves would be unwavering in their belief that they did everything resolutely, without guilt. But as he looks across the team, he sees the years, sees the growing. They’re not the same, not at all. 

“What then, do you believe the options are?” he says, addressing Njimia who starts at being addressed by him, but she recovers quickly. 

“There is always the option to do as we did before. Figure out the keywords, enter the Palace, and steal Akira’s heart,” she says, and Ann shifts beside him, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Or, we can try and fix things from this side. Work out what is leading to the distortion, and try to help,” she finishes, and Okumura in particular looks happy about this. 

“It won’t work.” 

All heads turn to Futaba, even before Goro’s mind has reached a similar conclusion. She traces patterns of the table with a fingernail, the polish on it chipped and uneven. Next to her, Yusuke shifts slightly closer, offering a support, small but obviously needed.

She sighs, and looks up. “I’m the only one here who had a Palace, so I know what it feels like,” she says, her voice trembling, but she maintains her composure as she glances at them all. 

“If he already has one, and he clearly does, it’s too late. You can’t just...talk and put a band-aid over it. When you’re distorted enough to have a Palace, it’s too deep for that,” she says. 

A needle goes through Goro’s chest, cold and biting. She is correct; all his time in the metaverse, he knows that you cannot dismantle a palace through a few platitudes. Yet her inside knowledge is so entirely different, and the pain which lances, bright and direct, at the thoughts of Akira being in this situation, stuns him for the moment. 

He breathes through it. It shouldn’t ache this much. But that is the joy of distraction, of all of this occurring so fast that he hasn’t had time to sit and live with the consequences of his discovery. And right now is not the time to fall into it either. 

“Besides, I’m not sure he would talk to us. He hasn’t yet,” Ann says, the misery clear, and Goro feels the whole room deflate. 

“Yeah. He’s always been here for us, but we...we’ve let him down,” Morgana says, and Goro for some unfathomable reason, has to resist the urge to pet the cat. 

“Damn it, I thought he knew I’d have listened any time. It didn’t need to get this far,” Ryuji says, and Goro feels that hint of frustration grow, voice sounding before he can control it. 

“It doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter how caring you are, how much you’ve said you’ll listen. It has absolutely nothing to do with you, quite frankly and everything to do with Akira,” he says.

They’re all staring. His mouth closes on the words, but he happens to catch Sakura’s eye, who gives him a tiny nod. It’s all he needs. 

“Not everyone...talks, like you all do. And even if they do, there are times when it is simply impossible for a person to talk. There’s no language for those moments, and words are just more traps and useless things that do nothing more than make the bullshit seem better,” he says, words tripping out, years of wading through his own mind fuelling him. 

“You can’t force someone to reach out if they feel there’s no escape, or no purpose. Or even that their particular brand of...well, let’s call it distortion, is something you wouldn’t want to hear. You haven’t let him down, he’s not ignoring you, it’s that there are some things that can’t be solved by the power of friendship, even if you all love to think so,” he says, with a mocking smile, unable to help it. 

There’s silence, all of them staring at him in various shades of shock and anger in some cases, before Sakura leans over the table. 

“He’s right. Maybe we haven’t been there in the right way for Akira, and we can’t change that. But, and you all know this as well as I do: sometimes you can have great people there, and still the thoughts are much more than you and them can face,” she says, offering a sad smile to the table, then immediately turns round and grins at him.

“You’re also totally wrong, Akechi. Again,” she supplies, and he narrows his eyes. 

“There’s only so much we can as his friends, that’s true. But we haven’t exhausted it. And it’s amazing really, how having someone who doesn’t give up on you makes a difference. Even when you’re at your worst, even if they can’t solve it, they still keep trying. Just like Akira did for me and my Palace,” she says, although she doesn’t look away. 

His body cycles through hot and cold, a shiver wracking him as the words sink in, syllable by syllable. She is talking about herself, Goro repeats in his mind. He knows all about her own circumstances. 

And yet, it is precisely how he and Akira worked. In the ship, in the time leading up to the betrayal he knew of from the start, Akira didn’t stop. Goro shot him in the head and he still offered his hand, offered friendship when Goro had screamed of hatred. 

Infuriating person. But unwavering. It stirs something that pulls and grasps at parts of him he does not have a name for, determination to aid solely for the purpose of another rising. He’d laugh if he could, if his mouth wasn’t stoppered by the tumultuous emotions raging. Even without being here, Akira Kurusu is turning him inside out and upside down. 

“They’re right. We haven’t tried, as we didn’t know we needed to. It’s not too late. But, it seems like we’re going to have to do this as Phantom Thieves, at least as a starting point,” Nijima says, looking around the circle, making sure one final time that everyone is in on this. 

“Hell yeah! Whatever it takes,” Ryuji says, and that seems to bolster them all. 

“I also called Sumire. I’m not sure if she’ll be able to be part of the palace infiltration as she doesn’t know when she’ll be in Tokyo, but she said she’ll try and get a flight home,” Ann adds, and Goro actually finds himself wanting to see Yoshizawa again. 

Out of all his previous ties, she’s the only one he kept tabs on. Easier to do, seeing as her gymnastics are discussed in papers and her most recent televised. She’d taken bronze, Goro was almost proud. 

“I think we need to see inside the palace before we can figure out how to approach it,” Okumura says.

“Yes, it is hard to imagine what Akira’s might look like,” Yusuke says, clearly not liking the idea of what comes next. 

“It wasn’t possible before. But none of you are Persona users now, or you weren’t,” Morgana says, just as Ann looks at him. 

“Well Akechi, you were the first to notice. Where did it happen? That might give us a location,” she says. 

He shakes his head though. “Two separate areas, and I’m not sure what connects them. The first time I didn’t realise what was happening, but I was on an underground station,” he says. 

“You didn’t realise you’d gone into the metaverse?” Nijima says, and fights the need to bare his teeth. He’s not discussing his mental state with these people. 

“I didn’t realise you’d become an expert in being thrown into a palace against your will in the last two years, Niijima,” he says instead and she straightens, before Ann clears her throat. 

He counts in his head. Gets to five before starting again. 

“I didn’t go to the metaverse. The world changed momentarily, but I didn’t fully cross over. It happened outside Leblanc the second time. Hurt like a bitch too,” he adds, and Ryuji laughs slightly. 

“Leblanc?” Nijima tries, but _ conditions have not been met  _ echoes in reply. 

“Is it something like Kaneshiro? A wider location?” Yusuke asks. 

They try various locations far and wide, deciding to halt when Japan fails. From there they try places Akira goes, starting with favourites and ending with places he dislikes. They throw out a few attempts at what the palace could manifest as for a break, but still there is no luck. 

When Okumura throws out ‘prison,’ ‘interrogation room,’ and ‘isolation cell,’ a hand fastens itself around Goro's throat, only to release when both are rejected. He is aware of how badly those incidents must have affected Akira, even if he only shot a cognition.

The actions of the officers gleefully torturing a teenager still to this day send his anger straight off the charts. Not to mention the fact Akira ended up in prison; but then again, Goro knows first-hand how the so-called justice system never really does protect young people. 

Time though marches on and after trying variations on many themes, they still have no luck. They can’t seem to work out what the palace would manifest or where. 

“Why is this so hard!” Ryuji moans, head dropping to the table with a worrying thunk. 

“Does it even exist? Maruki’s didn’t have a name, maybe this is similar,” Sakura tries. 

Nijima shakes her head, eyes locked on the screen. “It looks the same as the other ones,” she says softly.

“Urg. Nowhere,” Ryuji says, and Goro rolls his eyes when-

_ Result found.  _

They all still. Then Ryuji scrambles for the phone, grabbing it and staring. “Holy shit. That’s not even a location,” he says in confusion, showing the phone screen, the others craning to see. 

“It’s impossible!” Morgana yowls, jumping over to see the phone screen, Ryuji’s eyes still wide and frozen. 

But it is, and Goro finds his hands shaking so much he had to ball them into fists at his side. How can you enter a Palace that is nowhere, yet clearly exists? What exactly is going on in Akira’s head that he can even create such a potentially limitless distortion that almost laughs in the face of the rules themselves?

But then, he is  _ Joker _ . And that thought alone makes Goro smile, quickly hiding it by his hand.

“Maybe it has something to do with how he sees the distortion?” Okumura ventures.

Niijima nods, but he can tell she’s only part listening as her eyes move to his. “Akira still volunteers. He has to travel through the city to get there, if I recall. It might be reaching, but if your train passed his then-” 

“You’re thinking it’s proximity?” Goro says, leaning forward as her eyes light up. 

“Yes, I do. It’s always the desires that are distorted, and how a person views the world. If the location is nowhere, then that’s tied to Akira’s heart, meaning the palace exists in his private perception, emanating from him. So he may lead us to its appearance,” she says, and Goro settles, this idea making things easier. 

“Umm...what?” Ryuji says, and Goro rolls his eyes. 

“We need to be near Akira to enter his palace,” Nijima clarifies, and the team all nod. 

But Goro isn’t satisfied. This makes sense but also leads to further questions. Akira is clearly the epicentre of his own distorted location, potentially spreading it wider as it grows. But he is not the distortion, it is clearly listed as ‘nowhere’, which appears to have taken on it’s own significance in order to register. It must be connected to what he’s thinking, but Goro can’t quite get a sense of how that works. 

Perhaps if they discover the nature of the distortion, they can solve that mystery. 

Although they’ve only made some progress, it seems this is enough for the day. They all slowly stand wearily, the snacks Ann put out barely touched, none of them seeming any happier despite being closer to the answer. Goro can relate; he doesn't exactly feel better himself. 

“We should reconvene early next week. See if we can think of something, try and talk with Akira to get a sense of how he’s feeling. Let’s check our schedules, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get down here with classes, but I can sort something out,” Nijima says, and the others all chime in, mentioning their various timetables. 

“Hey.” 

Goro looks up, having not moved with the crowd to see Sakura is standing near. Morgana has remained close, eyes training on her, a guardian in case she needs. Of what he doesn’t know; as if he’s really going to do or say anything in these circumstances. 

“Can I help you, Sakura?” he says as evenly as possible. 

She makes a face. “You can start by calling me by my name, that’s just weird. And...yeah. I want to talk to you,” she says.

He grimaces. “Delightful,” he mutters, and she bristles. Goro knows that’s the wrong thing to say, but he can’t help but go on the defensive considering what’s coming. 

“Do you want me to wait for you downstairs?” Yusuke asks, appearing by her shoulder. 

“U-um sure, okay,” she says, voice pitched slightly too high, and Goro just about covers a smile. 

Not unexpected, he realises, that the two of them would draw closer. He’s never really paid much attention to the art of falling for another, his status as somewhat of a teen idol meant he’d been advised to keep himself always seeming available. As if Goro had actually cared about romance back then, anyway. It is...strange, seeing his peers in the moments of transition, and it’s far more raw than any movie would suggest, full of hesitancy and awkward steps, crossing and retreating. 

All far too complicated and indirect, in his opinion. 

“Akechi, it would be helpful to have your number, if you don’t mind. And, as Futaba said, please do use my first name. Nijima sounds too much like my sister,” she says with a grimace, and he finds himself thinking back to how he’d compared them both at first glance. 

“Of course,” he replies, and wonders if he’ll be added to some sort of group chat again. But he dismissed that thought; a juvenile notion. 

“I’ll be the other room,” Ann says, giving them both a nod, and Morgana slips away with her as the others call their goodbyes. 

The doors close, and he’s left in the kitchen alone with her. She fiddles with her sleeves, not looking at him, and he wants to bang his head against the table in frustration. But he says nothing, even though it pains him to; he’s got enough sense to know it’s not his call to start this conversation. 

“I’m glad you came back and saw Akira.” 

He’s not expecting that opening, and it must show, for she shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not your biggest fan. I don’t know how to feel about you. You killed my mum, and no matter what, you’ll always be the person who did,” she says, free of the quaver in her voice she once had when mentioning Wakaba. 

“Believe me, I know that,” he says, and to his surprise she sits down, drawing her stool closer to his. 

“Yeah, I figured. Two years isn’t forever, but it’s enough time for me to...understand some things. And I may not have killed someone, but the things I’ve done in the past will probably stick with me forever. I imagine that’s way worse when you have killed someone,” she says. 

It’s blunt, brutal and deserved. He finds himself slipping, just a little bit, back into some haze of cloying tendrils which have enveloped him before, surfaced into the edge of his vision more times in his life than they’ve been absent. Beating them back is hard and often not worth it. He’s tried to give in before, but always he’s dragged back. 

“And I know you’re not a monster. No one who loves Featherman can be,” she says. 

The absurdity of the change in tone, plus the fact she knows a guilty pleasure he’d taken pains to hide from anyone, starts him laughing almost hysterically, Futaba eventually joining in. 

“I haven’t watched any in years,” he warns her.

She mock gasps. “Well, time to catch up, the story is intense,” she says, punching him in the arm in a way that’s far too familiar than he deserves. 

Her smile dies and she stands. “I mean it though. I know Ann asked you to see him, but he missed you. Mourned you, even, I think. I know it means a lot to him. Even if now we have to go into his Palace,” she says, as she starts to put her things together. 

“A great fucking reunion,” he mutters, and sips the last of his soda, long since gone flat. 

Futaba hesitates, and he waits, watching until she closes her eyes, and looks at him. 

“I found some of my mum’s research data. I did some digging after Maruki’s reality collapsed,” she says, and every word is loaded, as he crushes the can slightly beneath his fingers. 

Two years is some time. But not enough. 

“I don’t need your pity,” he says, and he means it, has blocked out more of that time in a locked box of his mind which he doesn’t think he’ll ever really be able to open, the results of those months stricken across his heart with use of a persona fuelled by rage and the need for blood. 

And he pursued it, as much as Wakaba revelled in the process to begin with. They’re both as responsible as one another, even if she’d ultimately rebelled against it, not that it did Goro any good. She couldn’t stop something in motion, and he’d not understood what price he’d be making her pay. A horrible history, not one he’s ready to untangle, especially with Futaba. 

“I don’t pity you,” she says, and it rings true, even if he scoffs. “I idolised her. She was my mum, but she was forced to make some terrible choices. Shows what happens when we all get too caught up in our goals, no matter how good we think they are.” 

For the second time that day, he’s struck by her words, by how much she’s clearly matured in her thoughts. Far more, he thinks, than he probably has. They’ve all moved in different directions as is wont to happen, but he is surprised at her path. 

“Yes. Nothing good ever comes of that,” he says, having survived, for some unfathomable reason, through his own version of it. 

“It doesn’t. So...yeah. I don’t forgive you, and I don’t want to hear apologies. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you, but you’re not a monster. You’re important to Akira, so you’re important to me. Get used to,” she says, glaring in a familiar way and he almost smiles. 

“And catch up on Featherman!” she yells as she slips on her shoes, a door opening with the shout and Morgana entering, followed by Ann. 

The two hug goodbye, and Futaba scoops up Morgana as they leave, and Goro knows that he’s outstayed his welcome. He yawns, covering it with his hand not realising until now how exhausting just being around these people has been. 

“Thanks for coming,” Ann says as he stands, and he shrugs. 

“As if there was another option,” he says, and she looks at him curiously, but thankfully doesn’t dig deeper than that. 

“Where are you staying?” she says instead and as he checks the trains on his phone. 

“Hotel,” he replies, not even sure he could remember the name if she’d asked. 

“Wow, expensive. Listen, I have three spare rooms, and lots of space, if you’d prefer,” she says.

Goro almost drops his phone. “You want me to stay here?” he says, incredulous. 

Ann just shrugs. “I have the space, and it’s easier for any potential meetings. We’re in this together, right? And it’s not like we can meet at Leblanc anymore,” she says, face twisting. 

“And you’re happy to just let someone who tried to kill you stay here?” he says. 

Ann fixes him with a hard stare. “Technically, you also saved us all by sacrificing yourself twice. Are you planning on killing me?” she asks, hands on her hip. 

“I have better things to do,” he says, moving to the door. 

Ann grins. “Guessed so. Think about it,” she adds as a goodbye, and Goro rolls his eyes, saying nothing more before leaving. 

It’s most likely a ploy to ensure they keep an eye on him, and he doesn’t need Ann as his own personal probation officer. There’s no way anyone would want him to stay with them out of the kindness of their hearts, even as saccharine as these people are. 

He steps out, and checks the time. It’s not that late, but he knows all he’s good for is sleeping, dinner be damned. So he picks his way home, back to the hotel. Ann’s offer echoes in his ears, but he ignores it, along with the slight sorrow at the bare, clinical nature of the room. 

_ Nowhere.  _

The thought follows him as he changes and gets ready for bed. He takes a sleeping pill for good measure, not in the mood to be disrupted by nightmares or thoughts on any sort for that matter. 

After all, he’s meeting Akira tomorrow. He’ll have to contemplate all he knows in preparation, put to use the small amount of information he has in order to discover the final keyword. So for now, the best thing he can do, is not think at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One key word down, next one next chapter :) 
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no reason to be in Tokyo, and yet there is every reason: because he wants to be. His own path may look like backtracking, but it’s not; it’s simply another route. 
> 
> The difference is, it’s not chosen by a corrupt god, his pathetic father or a wasted excuse of a therapist, all folding reality and people to their whims. It’s chosen by him. And fuck anyone who stands in his way of what Goro Akechi wants. 
> 
> And what he wants, is Akira Kurusu free of that palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone supporting this story, I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far! 
> 
> As always, thank you to my lovely beta MxTicketyBoo for betaing <3

Goro feels like shit. There’s no point in pretending otherwise when he wakes up with his head pounding, the world clawing at him. There are days when it’s just...like this. But he takes his medication, and starts watching an old Featherman episode while he waits for them to kick in, hoping it will lessen. 

It does; fortunate as some days it refuses to. But today he’s given some semblance of help from whatever fate has in store, so as the day ticks by, it seems that he’ll still be able to meet Akira. Cancelling would have been a frustration for many reasons, as Goro hates disruption, he doesn’t have Akira’s number, so would have to pass the message on through someone else, and finally as he has a whole new reason to speak to him. 

It feels a little insidious, but that is sadly no different than before. Goro’s entire relationship with Akira began with the aim of getting something out of him, hiding the truth all the way. What it transformed to...well, that’s something different. 

He’s in no mood to do anything productive, even if Ann’s comment regarding hotel expenses does play on his mind. He’d budgeted to be able to do this, but it will be spreading his finances thin. He has some freelance work, ghost writing for a well known food critic, but it’s not the most stable income. Much of his money is from planning done previously, a few hidden accounts he’d managed to tie up away from Shido, but now after two years, have been hugely depleted. 

So if he can’t work, and can’t quite face going out, he’s stuck in his own head until the evening. A perilous place on occasion, but for now it’s time to face the thoughts he’s been putting aside with how swiftly events have progressed. 

Akira Kurusu. 

Goro sighs and pauses the video, falling back on his bed. He unlocks his phone, sees he has a number of new messages from unknown numbers, and it takes him instantly back to that fleeting time as a Phantom Thief. How distracting they’d been, talking constantly in the middle of classes, no sense of timing, and often full of idle chatter so that he’d have to scroll through drivel to find the actual important information. 

But it was the first time he’d belonged to a group. Any group. His cram school, TV appearances and working for Shido had meant he joined no clubs, and no sports teams. He did nothing with other people except the occasional school project. The whole time, despite being a guise to defeat and kill one of them, had been the most normal he’d ever felt as a teenager. 

All of that, was thanks to Akira. He’d pulled Goro into his world by barely saying a few sentences, captured his attention like no one had, and probably never will in Goro’s existence. Joker, of course, belongs in the spotlight, jumps and flips, shows off in all manner of ways. But it wasn’t Joker that Goro had been mesmerized with, but the person behind that mask. 

He never really understood how Akira was so overlooked by his peers. Like moth to a flame, as that hideous saying goes, Goro could never stop noticing him. Until Akira, he had two modes: the Detective Prince, whom they all adored and fawned over, or Black Mask, whom they all cowered from. No one questioned, no one criticised, no one challenged. 

But then Akira did. And slowly, everything fell from there, his popularity taking a deliberate dive, but it was only due to Akira that he even considered such a move. He’d been questioned, and it had sparked a high unlike any other, reaching through the numbness and grasping at emotion he assumed long trampled over. 

He wanted to know _why_. He didn’t have to craft answers hours in advance, match his tone and temperament to an audience. He didn’t tailor his appearance, his likes and dislikes, his whole personality around others, doing all he could to make people appreciate him. 

And yet, Akira had friends. He had people who looked out for him, hell they’d even die for him. He’d seen them step in front of Shadows, rage forward with incredible attacks on his behalf. This person who was free, utterly free to be himself without catering for any taste and still got more than Goro did. 

At least, that’s how it felt, that poisonous jealousy and longing to either be Akira or be in his wake, he wasn’t sure. But the more he thought, and Goro has had years to think, his perceptions of Akira were clouded in his own blind spots. 

He went to a school where everyone automatically hated him, his parents had dismissed him after Shido got his dirty hands in, and the attic Goro mocked really wasn’t fit for anyone to inhabit. Akira got through with the same type of determination Goro had, he’d just been twisted in a different manner. Akira saw the goodness and potential in others, and so was able to have people around him. Goro saw the disgusting nature of people, and repelled them at all costs. 

They’re similar. Two sides of the same coin, both wild cards on opposing sides. Which is why Goro thinks he should be able to understand where Akira’s mind is now. But he can’t. He has no idea what Akira’s distortion could be, his only guesses already proven incorrect. 

He sits up and massages his aching temples. He’s clearly missed something during the intervening years, something that has caused this shift within Akira to make a damn Palace that he’s now going to have to traipse through. Goro shudders; that power in the metaverse is addicting for a reason, something he does not relish in using once more. His experiences there are born of desperation and the wish to destroy; he knows that isn’t who he wants to be now. 

“You’d better be fucking grateful, Akira,” he mutters, as he scrubs at his eyes. 

He’s compulsively drawn into helping, and he still cannot fully explain why, in the same way he’s never fully been able to explain his need to be near Akira. Fate, gods, all that crap doesn’t hold up in his own mind. They’re free from that now, and Maruki’s twisted reality also brings back a creeping addition that he’s tried to push away. 

Akira’s greatest wish was for him to be with them. For their second chance, whatever that might be. At least, according to Maruki. Hard to tell how accurate it was, given that Goro was never dead like he’d claimed, but he’d formed worlds so perfect the others were loathed to escape from. There must be some element of truth there. 

He’s wondered on that for two years but has never come up with an answer. He proclaimed them rivals, and Akira kept his glove, the reminder of their bargain. But, Akira had the power to wish for anything in the world, and he still wished for him. 

His stomach twists; this doesn’t help their current issue so it’s not worth it. Fake realities aside, Goro needs to find that keyword and do it quickly so he can get back to forgetting about his past and moving on. 

_Will that be possible now?_ A voice whispers, but he shuts it down as he gets out of bed and moves to the bathroom. He has to actually get into the Palace first. One step at a time. 

He eventually checks the messages, and after a long series of conversations that make no sense, he works out they’re meeting on Wednesday evening. He types out his agreement, then mutes the chat so he can at least have some space as he plans the way to approach the evening. 

Leblanc is just as empty as it was when he first arrived, but this time the smell of curry fills the space. He suddenly recalls that time Akira and Futaba tricked him into eating extremely spicy curry, the memory oddly sweet despite the fact he was so easily duped. 

“Just in time, curry’s nearly done,” Akira says, looking up from where he’s wiping down the counter. 

“You didn’t have to cook,” he says, and Akira shrugs. 

“I like to. Plus, I’ve changed the recipe, it would be good to hear your thoughts,” he says. 

Goro’s tongue is instantly burning, and Akira’s laugh fills the room, resonant and thrumming in the exact centre of Goro’s chest. 

“I promise it’s not spicy. Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the middle booth. 

Goro does, slipping into the seat and watching as Akira disappears into the small kitchen. As he does, reality seeps back in; he’s not here for a friendly chat, the dinner itself is almost too much. This is a practical arrangement, one made with the ultimate need to close off this relationship. 

But things have changed in a few days, and this does make it easier. Although he is somewhat alarmed that, unlike the wary response of his appearance with the others, Akira is almost stepping back into the past, treating it as if he never left. How many times did he turn up to find Akira making food of some sort, as if he knew Goro barely had the time or occasionally the stomach to eat all day? 

Akira returns from the kitchen holding two steaming plates, and Goro has to clutch his stomach. He has, in fact, barely eaten today. His habits still haunt, apparently. 

“Thank you, Akira,” he says, and Akira nods, placing his own plate down. It’s a smaller portion, Goro notices, but he realises that Akira is waiting for him to eat, so fixes his eyes on his own plate, taking a mouthful. 

He always thought the food Akira made to be delicious, far more so than any of the expensive meals he took in his other life. But this shatters all of his memories of just how good it really is; the perfect mix of seasoning, the right amount of rice, to meat and sauce, the perfect hint of sweetness. He cannot help but smile as he finishes. 

“It’s fine,” he says, then smirks, and Akira laughs again. Some of the exhaustion he’d seen previously chips away, and Goro’s shoulders lift. 

“Good to know,” he says, then starts eating himself. 

The silence this time is less awkward, Goro thinks as they're eating. But of course this will need to end, so he starts piecing together a plan of questioning. Half out necessity, and half out of a building curiosity just to know what might have happened. As he surmised today, he has always found Akira fascinating; now is no exception. 

While Goro cleans off his entire plate, Akira only eats half of his food, stating he’ll probably finish it later. Goro frowns; there hadn’t even been enough of a portion for a proper meal in his estimation, but he’s not going to question it. 

“Did you work here today?” he asks, as Akira starts making coffee. 

“Yeah, I do a few days each week. And other work,” he says with a shrug. 

“Must be nice to choose your hours,” Goro says, thinking that in some ways, that is a joy of his own work. 

Akira doesn’t answer for a moment, fixated on measuring out the coffee. Goro waits, noting what seems to be tension pulling at his frame as the question hangs between them. 

“Yeah, I guess. Not that I have a lot to fit around,” he says, looking up and clearly trying for a smile before he reaches for the kettle. 

“What, you'd rather be back working all your jobs around high school,” Goro says with a scoff, as Akira pours the coffee. 

“Sometimes, maybe. Not the high school part but...I miss other things from then,” he says and Goro knows the careful balance of the words must take effort; he spent many hours doing the same over time. 

Akira places the coffee before him, and slides back into the seat. That tired air is back, but Goro doesn’t have a chance to pry further. 

“I didn’t get to ask what you were doing now. I expect you passed the entrance exams with flying colours,” he says.

Goro shakes his head. “I didn’t take them. I didn’t graduate on time, so I only finished high school this year,” he says, and Akira looks shocked. 

Goro offers a half-formed smile at the look. “I missed so much school by the end of everything, there’s no possible way they’d have let me graduate. But, I managed to complete most of it online. Special circumstances with all the injuries,” he says, and despite the smirk, Akira looks uncomfortable. 

Well, reality is uncomfortable, he thinks to himself. And he’s not going to shy away from the fact he almost died. 

“I plan to take the entrance exams this year though,” he adds, and Akira stares into his coffee, head bowed. 

“Must be nice. Having plans,” he says, and Goro takes a sip of coffee. 

“I always had plans, Akira. Just not necessarily healthy ones,” he says. 

Akira does lift his head then, and Goro is struck by the wideness of his eyes, the depths of the silvered-darkness there. It’s enthralling but also terrifying in a way. Something brewing, taking shape, but he isn’t able to identify what. Goro has always been able to read people, and the fact he’s struggling with Akira is causing him issues. 

“I think we all make plans like that when we don’t have much choice,” he says, words ringing in Goro’s ears. 

He swallows, throat suddenly thick. “You talk as if you have something similar,” he says, and Akira shakes his head. 

“No I...had plans. Perhaps. I’m not sure. It’s all...hard to see,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Goro considers this. Akira from before had plans, or at least a semblance of a plan. He wasn’t ever a strategist but he had goals and aims, righteous and solid in a way that infuriated Goro. 

“Hard to see?” he asks, and Akira nods. 

“Yeah, I’m not really like you. I don’t know what’s best to do, with the future. My friends all have goals too but...I don’t know. I’m still thinking. It all seems out of control at times and like I’m just...a guest, stumbling through my own upside down life,” he adds with a laugh, and Goro lets it lie, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Akira sounds lost more than anything. Which, well he can understand. The world was odd and strange to all of them, changing their lives in so many ways. Akira took the brunt of that from his side; adapting to the universe in the aftermath is tough. Goro doesn’t really know what he’s doing in that respect, although he’s thinking his way through. As if anyone ever knows what they really want at twenty-one, anyway.

But it’s the comparison with his friends that sticks out. Not something he’d say Akira was one to do, but it’s the second mention of them in a while. From his meeting, he can tell they all still care, so there hasn’t been an argument. But Akira’s missing something here. 

“You never used to hesitate,” he says instead, seeing what he can garner from this. 

The laugh that escapes Akira is bitter, the snapping of a string and almost makes Goro want to reel backwards at the sudden change. 

“Do you know how much I wanted to? I had to make decisions quickly, for multiple people. Why can’t I just stand still and think? Nothing we did made any sense, and all of it turned out to by some god’s idea of twisted fun. So, I think this time I’ll hesitate,” he says.

Goro is stunned, but equally can’t bear for Akira to leave the conversation like that. “That’s bullshit. You always considered things, this is no different. You can take time but don’t tell me you can’t do it. That’s not you,” he says, emphasising the last words. 

“I’m not Joker anymore,” Akira says, eyes flint and uncompromising in a way that ironically is so much like Joker that it undoes some of the statement. 

“Did I say that?” Goro says, because he cannot back down from a challenge when given by Akira. 

However, his opponent stands. “No, but you’re thinking it. So stop,” he says, then goes over to the counter, stepping behind it. 

_What the fuck?_ Goro thinks, trying to combine the conversation together. Akira’s avoided any direct talk of the past so far, but Goro clearly stepped over a line somehow. There’s a bang, and he turns to see a box placed on the counter. 

“Here. This is what you came for, right?” Akira says, and Goro feels his lip curl, frustration moving to boiling point, but he strides over. 

It’s a standard storage box. Sad really, that his life could be reduced to such a thing. He takes it; it’s a little heavy, but he’ll be able to manage it on the train. He places it on the table near their discarded mugs.

“Why the hell did you even keep this?” he says, not meting his annoyance. 

Akira looks back at him. “You said you’d come back.” 

And it really is as simple as that. In the same way that a part of Goro had always known he’d return, Akira had kept faith he’d fulfil his promise. That’s what they always have done; wrapped themselves in trades and deals to avoid any other sentiment. A permanent scorecard of connection. 

He should tear it up, release himself and Akira from this bond. Set aside this childish need to one up each other so they can both move on. Or perhaps just actually face what he wants to say, now free of lies and masks. 

_I can’t stay away from you. I end up coming back, time and again. You haunt me, and I haunt you. We can never escape each other, and I don’t want to let you._

But the words are twisted and grotesque, not shocking as Goro had felt far worse that this, but he can never voice it. Even to Akira. Even now. 

“I’m here,” he says, spreading his hands, just as Akira folds his arms. 

“And after tonight you’ll be gone. I know you will, I can see it in your face. Would you have even turned up if I hadn’t kept those things? After all-” 

Akira cuts off, inhaling deeply. Goro has to steady himself, counting to four. The air is electric, ready to slice open in a storm. He’s not sure he’s ready for what Akira is verging on, or if he’s been waiting for it his whole life. 

But much like before, Akira slumps, and the fire in his eyes is vanquished. Goro feels the need to scream, to reach out and shake him, ask the real Akira to come back from wherever it is he’s gone. 

“Well. It’s your choice. I need to close up,” he says, immediately ending everything. 

Goro just breathes for a second, the unexpected die down of Akira once again retreating from a challenge. He has what he wants from his original aims, but there is the new goal. The Palace still stands, and he will still enter it. He’ll not leave Akira like this, oh no. So he walks up to the counter, forcing Akira to acknowledge him. 

“I’m here for a month. There is...more time,” he says. 

He sees Akira’s hands shake, but when his head lifts, the gaze there is steady yet uneven. It makes Goro want to break bones. 

“It’s your time, do what you like,” he says.

Goro bares his teeth. “Oh, I will,” he says, liking the way Akira’s mouth twitches, before he pulls on his coat, grabs the box, and leaves. 

He can’t decide what to make of the whole encounter, it’s so utterly bizarre. But the way his stomach fizzes at the recollection of one single thought has him on edge the whole ride home. 

_We can never escape each other, and I don’t want to let you._

* * *

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience!” the receptionist states, bowing again as Goro smiles through gritted teeth. 

Moving rooms is a pain, but there’s little he can do. He’s staying a long time in this hotel, it’s only natural they’ll have to fit him around other bookings. Still, he’s frustrated; a common emotion, and he needs some sort of stability to ground him in these ever changing days. 

He’s used to moving though. At least nowadays, he has a travel bag, he’d spent years using plastic bags and one time an actual garbage bag to move his possessions from home to home. Goro has never really amassed things, too used to having to pick it all up and set it down again. It's one of the reasons he’d put some of his older things in storage; that and so Shido couldn’t get to them. 

He has another day before he needs to pack up, and it won’t take long, so instead he takes out his phone, and types out a message. 

_Did you get anything from that?_

The typing from Futaba is instant. _I wasn’t listening._

He has so many doubts about this, but she’s sending another message before he can dull any scathing reply into a nicer sentiment. 

_I promise. I didn’t think Akira would want me to. Did you get anything?_

_Maybe._ He replies, and then ignores the chat when she starts harassing for answers. All in good time. 

It’s late, but for once he doesn’t feel tired. Instead, he goes over to the box, and with no preamble opens it. The first item to greet him is his school blazer. He sighs, taking it out, amazed it’s been so expertly folded. It’s clean, dry cleaned even which he may have done, but doesn’t think he had the time before everything fell apart. He places it carefully on the bed. 

Underneath are a few other items of clothing, including a grey cashmere sweater he’d never worn, and his striped tie. He decides to keep the jumper but immediately tosses the tie. It reminds him too much of Loki, and he’d rather be done with the associations. 

There’s a scarf, which he keeps, it’s a perfectly good one. And then, a few stray items that he’s not expecting to be here. He sits down on the bed, pulling the box closer as he lifts them. The first is a fountain pen set, with ink unused. 

He clicks it open, remembering when he’d bought it for himself on his sixteenth birthday. He’d had no one else to celebrate with, and it seemed like the kind of gift he should have received. Grown up, professional, something he wished to be seen getting. And yet despite that, he did actually like it. He always has enjoyed writing, the scratch of ink on paper, words curving and floating into being. 

The next is just a mug, but he groans to himself, cursing Akira. There’s no way anyone would think a mug would be evidence, so this is literally just something he picked up. It’s Featherman, which explains how Futaba knew. He’d impulsively bought it in Akihabara one night, and used it for tea every evening. The pattern is a little faded, and he sets it aside carefully. 

He’s surprised at the next item, breath catching as he pulls out the toy light sword. His hands shake; he doesn’t dare push the button on the side, see if it lights up like he once did. He has no idea how Akira managed to keep hold of his weapon from Robin Hood, but here is it. The same light sword he’d begged his mother for each birthday, one she’d never been able to give him, all too expensive when he was a child. Now it sits, just a replica of his favourite heroes as a child. 

Robin Hood was his first persona, but Loki he always felt, was so much more representative of his true self. Yet, there’s a reason he was able to use Robin Hood, to have an entirely different outfit in the metaverse when wielding him. Akira never changed, despite the myriad of personas he had, but Goro invested both of the sides of his heart into each self. That’s why he ultimately had Hereward; they are both a part of him, even if he’d spent so long trying to separate himself entirely in two just to deal with circumstances. 

He’d always been jealous of Akira and his true Wild Card ability. But he cannot imagine what it must have been like having so many personas in his head, their personality clamouring and clawing, swapping and changing between them to suit the next purpose. Akira was always adapting and yet…

Goro shakes his head, looking at the light sword once more. He should probably dispose of it, he’s not sure how he feels having this with him. But he can’t bring himself to do so, at least not quite now. So it’s yet another thing he sets aside, reaching for the last item in the box. 

“Oh you didn’t. Damn you, Akira,” he says, hating how his voice breaks ever so slightly as he pulls out the chess set. 

It’s one of only two gifts he’s ever received, and it was from Akira himself. He sees it unfold; it had been two days after his birthday when they’d visited the jazz club, and Akira had given him the chess set. 

“Just saw it and thought of you,” he’d said, passing it over at the end of the night, wrapped perfectly and yet discreetly. 

No happy returns, no fuss, no indication he knew. But it was left between the lines, easy to read, especially when Goro actually opened the package. The chess set is exquisite, that perfect mix of decorative and functional, beautifully adorned pieces in carved marble. He dreads to think how much they must have cost Akira, with the added weight of his accursed sentimentality to it; it’s exactly something Goro would want, which strikes through any thought it hadn’t been a birthday gift. 

The pieces have a good weight to them, and Goro would love to use them in a match, watch them push their way across the board. But he’s never used it. He only played chess with Akira, and it never made sense to bring his own as Leblanc had a set. No one except him set foot in his apartment, even Shido simply summoned him. He had no space or people for such pleasantries. 

He places the box on the floor and opens the set. Every piece is accounted for, just as beautiful as his memories. He traces his finger across each one, remembers the person who smiled slightly, hidden behind glasses when handing it over. Who offered Goro a place when no one ever had, chance over chance despite the bullets to his name. Who threw away a perfect reality of wishes at Goro’s insistence, even if it meant his demise. 

The person who is a shadow of that now, who is stuck in some twisted corner of his own perception, unable to break out. The one who Goro, despite all his reasoning, thinking and planning, never really wanted to leave behind. 

Ultimately, no matter how much he tries to deny it, that’s why he’s here. Not out of necessity; his moving on can occur with a precise cut of ties from afar. There is no reason to be in Tokyo, and yet there is every reason: because he wants to be. His own path may look like backtracking, but it’s not; it’s simply another route. 

The difference is, it’s not chosen by a corrupt god, his pathetic father or a wasted excuse of a therapist, all folding reality and people to their whims. It’s chosen by _him_. And fuck anyone who stands in his way of what Goro Akechi wants. 

And what he wants, is Akira Kurusu free of that palace. 

* * *

Ann doesn’t seem surprised when he takes up her offer. Seeing as he had to pack up either way, and his unearth determination means it’s far easier to aid in palace infiltration when he’s with one of his co-conspirators. For all their conversations, he still thinks there’s a chance they would pursue the next step without him. 

He doesn’t know what to do about the fact Ann refuses to take any money from him, though. He hates the idea of not compensating her, but she’s adamant. 

“I told you, it’s my parent’s place, I don't even pay the rent. We’ll split food, unless you wanna cook if it makes you feel better?” she offers.

Goro sighs. “If you want this place on fire,” he says, considering he is utterly terrible at cooking. Never had the time or a person to teach him. 

“Oh. Well. That’s two of us then. Akira won’t let me near anything that generates heat in Leblanc,” she says with a laugh. Goro dreads to think what happened there. 

“I can clean,” he says, abruptly, mostly as the coffee table looks as if it’s in even worse disarray than when he first arrived, and he has a compulsion to do something about it. 

Ann looks slightly horrified. “Oh no, Akechi, really don’t do that. You’re not a maid, I invited you,” she says. 

But now he’s started thinking about it, he knows he’ll spend half the evening obsessing about how untidy his place is. 

“Umm, okay! If it makes you happy,” she says, seeming to think that order would be the opposite of happiness, and Goro is about to prove her wrong. 

The room she’s kindly lending him is practically the size of the hotel, and apparently her own room has an ensuite, so the bathroom is entirely his. He’s never had so much space in his life, so he gets to unpacking while she orders in sushi, just to avoid any further conversation he’s not in the mood for right now. 

“I’ll be gone most of tomorrow. I have classes and then work, so the space is all yours. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back,” she says. 

“I don’t need a babysitter, I’ve lived on my own since I was fourteen,” he says.

“Me too. I find it’s kinda nice just to have someone to let know when you’ll be,” she replies with a sad smile, and Goro is strangely struck by how much they have in common. 

Which is too much, considering all that’s happened, but thankfully Ann doesn’t seem too struck by it. 

He’s surprised at how restful his night is, although he wakes disoriented as Ann leaves, door closing behind her. She leaves him a note, tacked to the fridge written in bright pink pen explaining where the coffee is, and he unashamedly uses his Featherman mug to drink it. 

Goro does end up tidying and cleaning the kitchen area out of anticipation of the meeting today, seeing as the process is actually mentally calming. He’s in a much better space when done, managing to fire up his email and get some work done for once. The lawyers call, and state he’ll need to arrange an interview time, which he does for a week from today, the earliest available. 

Progress is good, and while he does it, his mind works away at the actual problem, quietly drawing him a map of exactly what might be happening in Akira’s head. By the time Ann returns, he’s anxious to discuss, and she seems to be that way too. 

“Oh wow, I really didn’t expect you to clean, thank you so much! But seriously, don’t feel like you need to,” she says, looking far too grateful. 

“Your place is a disaster, I don’t know how you live like this” he says, but she doesn’t seem to take it as the insult it’s meant to be. 

“I bought snacks, I’ll start setting up. They should be arriving soon,” she says, and Goro gets the feeling snacks seem to be a requirement when any one comes over. Seems like too much fuss, but he’s not an expert. 

He ends up making tea though, seeing as that’s what will settle his own mix of anticipation and dread, mentally making a list of things he needs to replenish and buy for himself as Ann spreads out the snacks. Goro doesn’t ask about Akira, knows the information is coming. 

One by one they arrive, all sombre but warm with one another. He gets a slap on the back from Ryuji, and gives him a strained smile in return that is more of a threat than he takes it as. Yusuke asks for tea, and Makoto ends up pouring a cup for Okumura, something that’s not lost on Goro. 

“Okay. I know it’s only been a few days, but I gather some of us managed to speak to Akira. Hopefully without it being too unnatural,” she says, eyes flicking to Ryuji. 

“Hey! He called me, I didn’t do anything suspicious,” he says. 

“Uh huh,” Ann mutters next to Goro, and he smirks but Makoto clearly has no patience for this. 

“Did the conversation make you think of anything?” she pushes, and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Nah, I don’t know. He seems...the same? Or like, the same as he’s been lately. I don’t know,” he says, clearly unhappy that he hadn’t been able to solve it. 

“I didn’t get to speak to him, but I did think about a few conversations we’ve had,” Makoto says, hands clasping one another. “Especially when he decided to drop out of college.” 

“He was deeply unhappy there,” Yusuke adds.

Makoto nods. “Yes, and I think he made the best choice, but he talked to me about the idea months before he did it. He seemed rather indecisive, I actually thought he’d decided to stay in the end,” she says. 

“Indecisive isn’t a word I would have used to describe Akira,” Goro says, recalling their argument, and Makoto nods. 

“Exactly, it was a change in behaviour. Which is, I think, what we’re looking for to figure this out,” she says. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Ann says, leaning forward. “I saw him today. He seemed...not really there. Like he’s thinking of something else, and I realised that he’s been like that for a while. He’s still a great friend, but it’s like he’s a little out of it constantly.” 

“Yeah. That’s what I’ve found. He just disappears into his own head, and not in a good way,” Futaba says, curling in on herself. 

“Wait...Yusuke, remember the trip to the mountains?” Ryuji says. 

Yusuke thinks for a moment. “Ah yes, I was there when you asked him about that. He didn’t seem to want to make plans.”

Ryuji nods. “Yeah! But not that he didn’t want to go, man what did he say...he said he didn’t know what he’d be doing then. Like, he couldn’t commit to something next year?”

That is more of an alarm bell than Goro thinks anything else is, but he doesn’t say the words out loud. It is however, building a picture of things which chime with his own thoughts. 

“These are normal things though, right? We all have trouble making decisions about important stuff, and we all get caught in our heads,” Ann says. 

“But it’s very different from how Akira was,” Morgana says softly, and Ann’s face falls. 

“I don’t know why we didn’t see it before. That Akechi was the first one of us to,” Yusuke says.

Goro shrugs. “I haven’t seen him for two years. To me, it’s abrupt. These things happen slowly,” he says, even though he doubts that it helps. 

There’s quiet between them as he worlds settle until-

“I think...this has been coming for a while.” 

He turns his head sharply to Okumura, and it looks like the whole room does. She stares at the table, then sighs, lifting her head a little. 

“We had a conversation about a year ago. A-an argument, really. About ending Maruki’s reality. I think doing that may have been the final straw. If I think back, Akira took the brunt of a lot of things we did as Thieves, what happened there…” she shakes her head, fading out. 

Makoto takes her hand, and Goro has a feeling she knew about this, but the surprise on the other’s faces is apparent. He has to admit, he can’t really imagine Akira having an argument with any of his friends, and Okumura the least of them. But it’s obviously not something she wants to reveal. 

“I talked to him at the time, so I thought he knew we did the right thing,” Futaba says, sounding worried. 

Okumura smiles at her. “He does, but I think the fact he was the one who woke us all up hangs heavy. I think he feels unnecessarily guilty about the past,” she says, and manages to catch his eye, looking quickly away. 

Ah. Something to do with him then. Wonderful. 

“Akechi, you spoke to him too, do you have anything to add?” Ann says, and the attention turns to him. 

Funny, how much this type of baited breath in waiting for his pronouncement was everything he craved growing up. In this moment, it’s not at all as appealing as it once seemed. 

“A few things stood out. I agree with Makoto that he seems unsure of what he’s doing, he said the future seemed hard to see. He also cycled through a lot of emotions in a short space of time, got pretty pissed off at me,” he says. 

“Why are you proud of that?” Futaba mutters, and Goro has to tone down his own grin. Anytime he manages to get Akira to fly off the rails in any form towards him always did cause a glimmer of satisfaction, but no one else needs to know that. 

“He seemed stuck, I suppose is the word. Mentioned that he seems to be the only one without goals,” he says. 

This of course, adds another dimension of concern between them, which he’d presumed would occur but it’s a necessary step. 

“I suppose it’s true I have been busy with my art lately, but I didn’t think we’d been this neglectful,” Yusuke ponders. 

“But that’s what happens when we grow up. We don’t all go to school together anymore, we have different schedules and live in different locations. It can’t stay the same,” Okumura says.

“Exactly, but Akira doesn’t view his own role like that. It can be hard to see the world move without you,” Goro says. 

“Yeah. That feeling sucks. When you think everyone is moving faster than you and you can’t keep up,” Ryuji says, any of his usual joy gone. 

“Akira…” Ann says, voice small and Goro almost reaches out and puts an arm around her. 

“That’s a distortion. It seems all of these things add up to it, and somehow Akira’s managed to tap into the metaverse and get a palace all of his own,” Morgana says. 

“Which is another question. How is that possible when we destroyed it?” Makoto asks. 

“Do you really think such a thing could be destroyed?” Goro says, voicing something that he’s been thinking of for a while. 

“Akira shot god in the face, so uh, yeah,” Ryuji says, and Goro laughs. 

“Of course, that bastard is gone. But the underlying issue is that people are people. They’re selfish, greedy, manipulative and hurtful beings. Corruption, abuse and scandal still exists, if you want that gone you belong in Maruki’s disgusting reality,” Goro says, half snarling the last part. 

“So, the bare bones are still here. Hearts can never be pure,” Makoto murmurs.

Morgana flicks his tail. “Right. That does make sense. And somehow, that’s latched onto Akira. Or Akira latched onto it,” he says. 

Next to Goro, Ann shudders. 

“There’s not much we can do about that right now. As Akechi said, people are people. But we can help Akira. We need that keyword,” Futaba says, sitting up and pulling out her phone ready. 

Makoto nods, taking back the overseer position. “Okay. We have difficulty seeing the future, feeling stuck, things and people moving without you,” she says, and every one of them feels like a stab to Goro’s chest, so hard he almost winces. 

The others seem to have that too, all wincing. “Night?” Ryuji tries, and although Goro can sort of see the logic, he knows it’s not right, the app confirming it. 

“Traffic? Or a train station? You get stuck in those,” Ann says wildly, as they all start jumping in with the new information.

“A graveyard,” Okumura says, which seems off and extremely specific but is rejected. Goro’s glad as he doesn’t really think walking through a graveyard the size of a palace would be a pleasant experience. 

Goro tunes out the random guesses, and thinks over what he heard. Makoto had mentioned stuck, which he too had guessed, but keeps coming back to his original thought: lost. Akira seems more unsure, undecided than anything, cut off from what he sees as his grounding stability.

“Where would you get lost? Akira seemed more...adrift, that anything,” he says, feeling as if it’s all just at the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. 

“At sea?” Yusuke says, which is a great guess, but rejected. 

What had really set Akira off was a specific part of the past. _I’m not Joker_ , he’d said, eyes almost lightning-spun with anger that he doesn’t ever usually express. No longer that flare and dynamic spectacle to hide the confused and disjointed insides. Goro casts his mind back to the times he went into the metaverse, and although he couldn’t see much, there was something else: music. Creepy, old fashioned almost toneless music. 

_Upside down life...falling and spinning...lost...twisted fun_...his brain reaches a frankly ludicrous conclusion, but it fits. So before he can second guess, Goro voices it. 

“Funhouse.” 

_Result found._

“Oh my god,” Okumura says, hand flying to her mouth. 

“Whoa, like a carnival? One of those places that tricks you and has freaky corridors and things, right?” Ryuji says, and Goro shakes his head, but Futaba jumps in, a little frantically. 

“I-it could be any of them. They contain mazes, and optical illusions, puzzles, and people 

there just to scare you,” she says. 

“It’s a version of reality that’s turned on its head, an uncanny world. They’re meant to be places you get through, but the trick is finding the correct way and past the obstacles,” Makoto says slowly. 

“Yes. And where you aren’t in charge of the outcome. A house that’s not a home, that looks frightening or strange. A...twisted game, if anything,” Goro says, shaking his head.

A lost self in a lost future, the present a turned-around minefield of corrupted normalcy. Finally, Goro can understand what has led his rival to this point. 

“That would do it. A distorted sense of self and the world, twisting things from what they are. The funhouse of nowhere,” Morgana says, and they all shudder, feeling the truth of that other world pushing at them. 

“It seems we have all our keywords,” Okumura says, her voice steel framed and despite it all, he feels something crackle. 

“Right! This is it, this what we needed,” Ann says.

Ryuji’s smile is blinding. “Hell yeah, we’re gonna go save our friend,” he yells.

Yusuke nods. “With all of us together we will triumph.”

Futaba claps. “I’ll have your back. It’s been two years, I have so many more tricks up my sleeve, hehe,” she says with an almost maniacal glee that has Goro grinning too. 

“We’ll prepare at once, I can get supplies tomorrow,” Makoto says, and Morgana yowls in agreement. 

And there Goro sits, the last person in the room. They’re not Phantom Thieves anymore, not teenagers fighting against the world and the adults who have let it descend into destruction. They’re just people trying to save someone they care about. 

The type of heroism the boy with the light sword would have cheered at. 

“We’ll crush that world, and drag him back,” he says, which makes Ryuji cheer, and Futaba covers her face and shakes with laughter. 

Well, he’s not really a hero. But this time, he’s not attempting to play the villain either. And he can’t say that he’s not looking forward to breaking apart the metaverse once again. And through it all, the need to see inside that palace, shadows or distorted pathways be damned. 

He’s getting to Akira. After all, that is his new goal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Palace time!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you really expect just to walk in?” Goro says, the atmosphere starting to get to him. He doesn’t like the fact there are no Shadows. What Palace has no Shadows at all? Even Futaba’s did, from what he’s heard. 
> 
> Ryuji turns slowly, as if sizing Goro up, and he feels himself bristle. “Yeah man. We have tickets and everything,” he says with a smirk, holding up a small yellow piece of paper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful support! I'm really happy you're enjoying it. 
> 
> And now...the first look at the Palace. 
> 
> Huge love and thanks to MxTickeryBoo for betaing

“Akechi senpai, it’s so good to see you!” 

Goro feels his features twisting. “Yoshizawa, please don’t call me that,” he says with a grimace. He’s really never been anyone’s senpai, and he’s not starting now. 

She blinks, looking a little flustered, then breaks into a bright smile. “Then, please do call me Sumire, Akechi,” she says, and he supposes he can add another first name to his list. An odd feeling, to be so familiar with others. 

“What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” 

When Ann mentioned Sumire wanted to speak to him, he was initially surprised; he can't see why. They’d only interacted on a few sparse moments before Maruki’s palace had thrown them together, and although he’d found her company preferable, even nice, his mind had been occupied with other things. So while this clearly has to do with Akira, he’s still shocked she asked for him. 

“I wanted to talk about...what you’re doing today,” she says, seemingly unable to pronounce ‘infiltrate Akira’s Palace’ which is fair enough. 

“I apologize for not being able to help much, although I hope to be home soon. But you can count on me for anything I can do from afar. When Ann told me about the keywords and your discussion, I was reminded of a conversation Akira and I had,” she says, slowly. 

Seems like Akira’s dropped the ‘senpai’ too, so he’s not sure how his managed to slip in. Old habits die hard, he supposes. 

“And you wanted to tell me?” he says, and Sumire nods, as if this isn’t utterly bizarre. 

“I think you might understand it best,” she says. He’s seriously starting to question her reasoning skills. 

He says nothing though, just waits while she finds her words, looking slightly off camera, fiddling with the end of her long braid; a style that is completely her own. It looks nice, but he doesn’t feel it’s his place to say so. 

“It was when I came back for training before this competition. I went to visit my sister, and he offered to come with me. It’s actually nice to have the company,” she says, and Goro nods even though he doesn't truly understand that notion. 

He can’t remember the last time he visited his mother’s grave. Or even if he’d be able to recall the location. Again though, he says nothing. 

“He asked me something strange. I mentioned the grief counselling sessions, and he seemed...concerned. Which I understand, seeing how the last person who tried to help me used me,” she says, grimacing. 

“Trash bastard,” Goro adds, the immediate flash of anger too much to control. Sumire blinks, then laughs, not correcting him. 

“I suppose. But really, it’s going well. I told him how much it helps, that it’s less of grief now, and almost happiness, at the memories I have with my sister,” she says, and Goro feels his smile lifting as hers grows so bright at the recollection. 

But it fades rapidly. “He asked...he just stared at me and asked if it truly was. That the grief was really over. And I just...I guess I didn’t know how to answer that. I think I stammered out something that may have been a yes, he didn’t seem too convinced,” she says, going back to worried again. 

“What would you answer now?” Goro asks, and Sumire sighs, heavy and low. 

“Grief isn’t the same. Yes, I’ll always miss her. She’s a part of my heart, forever gone. But you move through the sharp parts and into something that you can live with. That you carry with you without it tearing you apart,” she says. 

Goro knows, sort of. He never quite got to that stage, but he wore his scars as battle armour, an exhausting way to fuel his hatred, a pain he could revisit. It doesn’t have longevity though, and now he has an almost more exhausting process of actually dealing with it. But Sumire’s learning to live with pains and still take steps. He’s doing the same; perhaps he’ll get there eventually.

“So, you think he’s in pain?” Goro asks, mentally moving on, and Sumire shakes her head. 

“I think he’s grieving. I don’t know what though. Whatever it is, I think he’s not able to learn how to live with it. Or doesn’t want to,” she frowns, then looks back at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not very helpful is it? I’ve been thinking it’s important for some time, but I haven’t been able to see why. Even now, it doesn’t seem as if I can,” she says. 

“It is helpful. Anything is. We’re still trying to discover how the palace will work,” Goro assures her. 

“A funhouse. That’s so like him, in a way,” she says, and Goro has to nod. 

“Yes. Always knew himself and what he stood for. And it’s become his distortion as he’s now a path to nowhere,” Goro says, bitterly enough for Sumire to almost try and reach out. 

“He always knew how to make others feel better. I wonder if Akira really spent that much time looking after himself. I was too caught up in my own feelings when we met, and he always stood by me. I didn’t consider he might be just as lost,” she says. 

“We’re all lost, in our own ways. Anyone who says otherwise is lying,” Goro adds. 

That makes her laugh. “You’re still how I remember, Akechi. But also not. I’m happy to speak to you, and to hear you’re doing well.” 

After promising to keep her informed, and giving her a belated congratulations on her win, he ends the call. He sits back, stares at the high ceiling in Ann’s spare room and contemplates. 

Futaba had mentioned Akira mourning him, Okumura’s guess of a graveyard and Sumire’s discussions of grief adds a new dimension which he imagines will be crucial. He’s sure it’s not all to do with him, although he makes an unfortunate candidate in that he was presumed dead, as well as disappearing from the consciousness of this world. 

But he’s not self-absorbed enough to believe he makes up the entirety of it. What is Akira grieving? What has he buried that he keeps contemplating, observing in the shrine of his head? An aspect he hasn’t let go of that he cannot fully leave behind. 

Goro leaves it as that, adds it to the tally in his head: lost in life, loss of who he is, difficulty in moving forward, lonely and grieving, and the rapid changes in emotion he’d experienced personally. Not all will be in the Palace, some he thinks are symptomatic. But all of them paint a picture that Goro hates having to witness, wishes he could claw it to pieces and pull Akira through the frame. 

Destroying the Palace will be a start. And the first step is to begin the infiltration. 

Ann’s call rouses him, and he checks the time, realising he’d been talking and theorising for longer than he thought. He closes his laptop and heads out, in time for Ann to thrust a bag into his hands. 

“Pastries, I picked them up on my way home,” she says, holding her own bag up as she drops books onto the couch. He’s already had lunch, and he’s hoping she has too considering they need their energy today, but he’s not here to check up on her. 

“Do not eat that without a plate,” he warns, going over to the kitchen to retrieve crockery, and decides to make coffee seeing as he’s there. 

“You know, I can make crumbs in my own house,” she calls, and Goro doesn’t bother replying to that, but despite the comment she waits until he returns before eating. 

She nervously picks at her food, while Goro watches in irritation until her jitters start to infect him and he puts his cup down with a slam, causing her to jump. 

“You’ve done this before, stop overthinking,” he says.

Ann glares back at him. “Hardly, this is Akira, and we can’t afford to mess up.” She’s angry, which is good. Better than nervous, anyway. 

“And you’ll mess up if you keep doubting every second. Either talk about it, or focus but stop shredding your food,” he says, and she blinks down at the pastry as if she hadn’t realised what would happen. 

“Oh. Right.” 

She eats a few bites, then flicks her eyes to him, swallowing before talking. “I don’t know if I can still be Panther. I don’t...feel like that anymore. And I need to be better than ever this time. It’s the most important thing we’ve done.” 

Goro almost wants to record this and shove it in Akira’s face to dispel any thoughts that these people are leaving him behind. This is the type of relationship Goro always felt were never truly possible, only existing in stories or only to be bought and paid for, never really as free as they seemed. 

“Then fight. It’s all we can do. You don’t need to be the same person, you need to just get through this Palace. That’s all,” he says. 

“That’s all?” she says, seeming incredulous, and he tips his mug to her. 

“What do you want me to say? That we’ll make it through unscathed and happy? We won’t. It’s a Palace in Akira Kurusu, it’s shit. And we’re all out of practice, but we don’t know what’s there. All we can do is face it. You want happiness and roses, call your other friends,” he says, and oddly, she smiles. 

“Thanks. I kinda needed to hear that.” 

Goro doesn’t have anything to say to that other than to once again question these people’s reasoning skills, but it does the job in making her more confident, so at least it works. They finish up their snacks in relatively comfortable silence, before they both rise to get ready. 

It’s different from what he once did; he doesn’t have any items or targets to go over. He simply changes into more comfortable clothing and ties his hair back; not that it will matter once they get to the metaverse. He waits for Ann, who does the same, and they leave together. 

“Wait, um…Akechi?” she says, just before they leave. 

He turns, raising an eyebrow, considering they really should leave to avoid being late, but she’s hovering by the door. 

“Are you okay with all this?” she asks, and he stares, not sure where any of this is coming from. He doesn’t need a pep talk, never has. He’s not part of their group, and doesn’t intend to be; he’s doing this for Akira. 

“Why are you asking?” he says impatiently. 

“I...urg, never mind, let’s go,” she says, moving past him and leaving the apartment. 

Goro has never understood these people, and today is just proving more than ever that he never will. 

* * *

They meet at Futaba’s house, deciding that it’s probably close enough to trigger the app. Sojiro Sakura is at Leblanc today, and Akira, Futaba mentions with an assurance that can only be gained through spying, went to his room an hour ago and has not left. 

The group deposit their belongings inside, Goro having brought sports drinks, water and a first aid kit with him in his, which in lieu of any healing items, is all he could think of. That, and his old light sword; Ann giving him a grin when she sees it. 

“Alright, let’s take some items each so we have some healing. Ryuji has weapons,” she adds, and he’s soon geared up with a realistic pistol and the same healing items they once used. 

It’s all surreal, and the tension is clear, but as soon as they’re loaded up, Makoto gestures and they leave, Futaba giving the house one more wistful look as she steps outside. Hopefully it doesn’t look as suspicious as Goro feels with her in tow, considering that small areas such as this tend to gossip and her guardian is bound to find out. But they slip down a side street which leads towards the station, empty as planned and huddle on a dead end. 

“Any last issues?” Makoto says, and they all glance at each other, eyes alert and a little unsteady, but resolute. 

“Okay, let’s go then,” she says, and with a touch of the screen they enter Akira’s Palace. 

The world warps in that familiar fashion, and with it, the splitting headache returns, so harshly Goro clutches at his head, feeling as if his skull is about to split, mouth dry and vision wavering more than it ever has as he transfers over. 

It stops though, ebbing slowly, and he realises he’s on his knees, and slowly he opens his eyes. Not that it matters for a moment, the lighting is dim and he has to blink for several moments before the world starts to take shape. 

There’s some sort of mist surrounding him, shades of grey the swirl into light, tendril-like patterns before vanishing utterly, framed around a dark background. The darkness seems to move though, and Goro turns his head as he feels he sees shadows, the blackness flowing like water, upwards and outwards, but he cannot seem to focus on it enough to see the meaning. 

“Whoa, what is this?” 

Goro turns, just as a small amount of light illuminates, seemingly harsh in the gloom, his eyes not used to it. It forms a circle from nothing, a thin band of pure silver, and right in the centre are himself and the Phantom Thieves. 

And Phantom Thieves they are; each of them glancing between the strange world and their own get ups, masked just as he remembered them. He realises belatedly that he’s wearing a helmet; Black Mask then, even if the sword at his hip is the one he wore as his Prince self. 

“We’re already a threat to him,” Ann says, sitting up and looking around at the marked group. 

“I think it’s probably more complicated than that.” Futaba says, standing slowly, peering around with her goggles. 

They all slowly stand, Goro trying to piece together anything he can see. The light does seem to make things easier, but only encases them, with no single indication of where to tred next. The shadows seem thicker to the north, but this could be his imagination. They are in unknown territory. 

“Okay, this is weird. I can’t sense anything. Literally anything, no Shadows, no threats and no path at all. So much for a funhouse,” Futaba says in frustration. 

“No shadows? That...doesn’t sound right. This is a palace after all,” Okumura says, but Futaba brings up a screen, cycling through blank space after blank space. 

“No readings. Except for all of you. It’s like this place doesn’t exist, like its-”

“Nowhere?” Yusuke chimes in and they all exchange a glance. 

Goro looks out at the mist and the light, and looks ahead. “I assume if we start moving, we should be somewhere. Although blindly walking doesn’t seem like the best way,” he says. 

“Right. But we don’t have much choice. First, we need to decide who is in the leading party,” Futaba says. 

Goro huffs and folds his arms, focusing on looking outwards. He knows he’ll be bringing up the rear in support, not bothering to pay attention to the discussion until Makoto calls his code name. 

“Crow, I want you in the front.” 

“What?” he says in tandem with Mona and Okumura, as Makoto looks around. 

“I think it’s crucial we have Crow in the front with Panther, myself and Fox. He was the first one to find this Palace and guess it’s form. I think it’s the best way forward,” she says, in a way which broaches no argument. 

He’s surprised but relieved she’s thinking of it strategically rather than letting any emotions come into play. Moreover, he wants to be front and centre, so ignores the exchange of glances as he stands in line with the other three, Makoto giving him a nod. 

“Alright, we need to choose a direction to-”

“Uh, guys? I think we have one,” Futaba cuts in sharply, pointing north. 

Ann steps back close to him, and he only just manages not to do the same. The strange light of the circle blinks for a moment before it bursts forward, making Futaba shriek and Ann grab his hand. 

The circle has now opened and they watch, on guard, as it expands, firstly to a now small straight line, a pathway which will allow four people to walk comfortably together across, before vanishing for just a moment. Goro holds his breath, knowing without being sure that this is a prelude. 

He feels his heart beat. And then, the world bursts into glaring illumination, red and silver blurring before his suddenly watering eyes, so much so that he ducks his head. He hears Ryuji yell and Morgana hiss, and the strange music he now recognizes as a steam organ fills his ears. He blinks rapidly, before looking up and staring at the funhouse before him. 

Goro has never been to such attractions, but he vaguely recalls how one should look. This is less garish than he imagines, but the scale is still impressive. It appears to have three levels: the ground level with a gaping entrance of which the illuminated path leads to, two other half open floors and a final level that is totally sealed, if it’s even an area that can be entered at all. 

“I guess that means we gotta go forward,” Ryuji says from behind, much closer than the usual formation, not that Goro blames him. It is certainly a creepy place. 

“Everyone ready to advance?” Makoto calls, and they all nod. 

There is no talk of a side entrance, or sneaking in. The Palace is clear in what it wants, having burst into fantastical formation before their eyes as soon as they wondered about its presence. When Goro turns, Futaba seems to be looking at something entirely, clearly trying to map as much as she can. He has no doubt if there were another entrance, she would inform them. 

As they move closer, the funhouse begins to light up, piece by piece being exposed in all it’s strange glory. The colour scheme almost makes Goro’s eyes roll: red, black and silver lining the contraption. The top most level is still in darkness, despite the rest of it easier to see, but he can still see the outline of top, trapezium shaped and smaller than the rest, utterly enclosed. 

The third level in contrast, is the brightest, shining chrome with black patterns of broken chains framing each corner, then striking outwards like tendrils across the length of the floor. There are two large Juliet balconies near the centre. The black of the curving iron standing out amidst the shine of the backdrop, the light behind them a soft glow yet revealing nothing. 

To the left hand side, there impossibly appears to be a helter-skelter, the slide part starting on this level, the tower so dark it’s almost shadow itself, the slide on the outside changing colour to match with the main hue of each level. 

The second layer is mostly scarlet, a set of curving balconies on the outer edges in almost glittering silver, bright in the otherwise gloom. The centre is enclosed, and where Goro peers, he can see a design painted on the centre in the same bold shine. His chest tightens as he recognizes it as a jester’s hat, devoid of it’s usual two toned colour, one right ways, the other upside down, a playing card design without the human in the middle. 

He dips his eyes swiftly down to the first level, considering they’ll be attacking this first. This is the most toned down level, in black and deep red, all entirely on display. The entrance in the centre seems to be a booth of some sort, and he sees the open lower layer is lined by red lights, the floor seeming to veer upwards on the right hand side, before it vanishes inside. 

It’s punctuated by dark bars, which he knows are present in most funhouses, but eerily remind him of prison cells. His heart sinks at it, wonders if the others notice. His vague memories of being held in a cell from the unreality are mostly of being talked to for hours, then let go; not how he knows a prison questioning should run. One of the first things that tipped him off about the world being out of sorts. 

It strikes him in that moment, frustratingly delayed, that it makes perfect sense. In a world where he was a wish created for a person who had seen the insides of the police system, of course his own experiences would not be the terrors Akira had witnessed. Even for someone who had tried to kill him, Akira wouldn’t let them experience that. 

He almost stumbles, hands clenching as a series of emotions, both familiar and intangible course with an intensity he isn’t expecting. He wants to run straight at the bars and pull them down, destroy every memory of jail for Akira, wants to go back to the real world and scream at Sae until his voice runs dry for even having to base her case against Shido on a teenage witnesses, despite the fact it was apparently the only way to bring down his father. 

But he controls it. Stops and hangs back, counts to ten and counts back down, but he’s still not calm. But maybe he doesn’t need to be rational right now; not with a funhouse of Akira’s making to destroy. 

Up closer, he sees that the booth at the entrance is plastered with fliers. He walks up, kneeling down to see better, Yusuke coming up behind him. They’re ripped and glued one on top of the other, like on abandoned buildings, yet all have the same artistry, the black and red colours melding over half formed images and words. It takes him a second, but he starts to decipher what they are. 

“Chariot...The Lovers...The Emperor...Justice...tarot cards?” he asks, mostly to himself, but Yusuke hums in reply. 

“Yes, that appears to be so. Come to think of it, I do remember Akira mentioning something about Personas tied to tarot,” he says. 

Goro stares at the posters for a moment longer, but they don’t trigger anything useful, so he stands, and turns back to the group. 

“Oracle, do you have anything that might help?” Okumura asks, and in reply, Futaba brings up a screen. 

“It looks to be exactly how we see it. Four floors, entrances on different sides, except the final floor, so we can plan our way. Not that I expect a palace to be as simple as that. I still can’t sense any Shadows, or really any danger. Which I don’t like,” she adds. 

“Normally a funhouse is something you just pass through, right? All the ones I went to as a kid just were a little silly, air jets and weird rides,” Ann says. 

“This is a Palace, not a real funhouse, don’t take it lightly. Museums and casinos don’t normally have death traps, but you experienced those first-hand,” Goro says

She sends him a slightly hurt look but nods. “Right, I’m just saying, if there’s no Shadows then I guess we have to just get past the obstacles? And the treasure must be at the top?” 

“Yup, that I can see. It’s on the top floor, so we just have to get there,” Futaba says.

Morgana yowls in reply. “I can definitely sense a treasure. It’s muted, but it’s here,” he says, and that at least confirms something is normal. 

“Then, we just gotta get in!” Ryuji says, rolling his shoulder and walking to the booth. 

“Do you really expect just to walk in?” Goro says, the atmosphere starting to get to him. He doesn’t like the fact there are no Shadows. What Palace has no Shadows at all? Even Futaba’s did, from what he’s heard. 

Ryuji turns slowly, as if sizing Goro up, and he feels himself bristle. “Yeah man. We have tickets and everything,” he says with a smirk, holding up a small yellow piece of paper. 

“What?” Makoto says, marching over, just as Ann chastises Skull for touching something without checking. 

Goro follows them over, and sure enough on the side of the booth you’d usually buy tickets, there sits a row of different coloured small tickets. They look like the type you get in old fashioned arcades, all cut from one reel with a diamond shape hole on the sides. 

“They...have our code names on them,” Futaba whispers. 

Which is indeed rather terrifying, if Goro’s honest. One by one, they slowly pluck their named tickets from the counter, all slightly on edge as if something odd will occur when they do. But the Palace remains as is, the music still cycling. 

Goro picks his own ticket up. It’s red, with ‘admit one’ written across the bottom, and ‘Crow’ in the centre, all in silver. A tiny crow picture sits under his name, an addition that has him regretting allowing that to be his code name. He flips the ticket over and frowns; it’s exactly the same except this time the text and crow image are in black. Odd. 

“Well, I guess we just use the tickets and go straight in, right?” Ann says to Makoto, gesturing to the entrance. It’s a double turnstile with a slot for tickets, looking simple enough. 

Makoto stares at the Palace for a moment, looking at Morgana, who sighs. “I don’t think we have much of a choice. I really don’t know what we could be facing. But if there’s no sense of danger, this is the only way,” he says. 

Makoto’s shoulders drop a little, but she steadies herself. “Take your place, and be on alert. If anyone sees anything, even for a moment, speak up,” she says, and Goro moves forward to stand next to Yusuke, Ann heading beside Makoto as they move up to the turnstiles. 

“I’ve got your backs. Good luck,” Futaba says, and the two at the front nod to one another before simultaneously entering their tickets. 

It’s anti-climatic really, as they take the tickets back and push through the turnstile. Goro does the same, putting the silver writing side up, considering that’s how the ticket was presented to him, taking back when the machine spits it out, and pushing through the metal. 

“We probably need these to enter different areas as they’ve been handed back. Do not lose them,” Makoto calls, and Futaba mumbles something that Ryuji shrieks at. 

Goro ignores them, looking around as they slowly make their way forward. He notices that much like the torn posters, now he’s at the base of the palace it all seems rather hastily put together, as if it’s all surface dramatics and no substance. There are a set of metal red stairs to the left, which Queen veers to, leading up to the first level. The red of them seems to be paint, chipping off where it meets Goro’s gloves, a slight rust coming off as he scrapes them. _All for show_ , he thinks, as he takes careful steps. 

Close up, Goro can see that the floor is dark red and uneven, as if pieced together from many squares, and the bars which still remind him of a jail cell, are twisted black and dark grey. He glares at them, but they do nothing. There are others scattered around, thicker though like beams, and he wonders what the hell this will be. 

“Wait. I see a Shadow,” Ann hisses, and they all stop as she points towards the back of the level. 

Goro squints, and sees that she’s possibly correct. It’s very difficult to see, but the darkness does seem to be taking form, swirling into shapes with a hint of bright eyes. 

“Readings are faint...it’s hard to tell exactly what they are, or if they’re hostile,” Futaba says, her voice clearly betraying how frustrated she is. 

“More than one, I believe,” Yusuke mutters, peering into the gloom.

Goro grimaces. “We have an audience. Let’s get this over with,” he says, and the other three agree, all of them marching up the last of the steps, through the gate, to reach the platform. 

As they do, the gate clicks shut. Goro tenses, and the music swells, the eerie steam pipe coursing. As it does, a sign lights up overhead, letters in neon red displaying the words _Welcome to the Trickster's Floor!_ As it does, on the other side of the level a door opens, the creaking managing to echo despite the pipe music. 

Trickster...that was Akira, Goro thinks. Although they shared similar attributes, he could never fully take part in that power offered, the room he could never truly access, as his path was meant to oppose it. But what it has to do with the floor is another question. If it really has anything to do with it at all. All it does is rise up gradually as stairs leading to the other side. Not that Goro trusts it. 

“Trick floors were a common attraction in funhouses. Although what this trick is, I can’t say,” Makoto says, and Goro readies himself. Palace tricks are never things to trifle with. 

“No shadow movement, and the door leads to the next level. Go go go!” Futaba says, and the four in the front nod before they each move forward. 

As soon as Goro’s feet touch the first step, the whole tile spins. He flattens his feet, head whipping around, and then jumps as fast as he can to the next free space. Which automatically tries to buck him off. 

To his left, he hears someone scream, and manages to keep his balance just in time to see Makoto being grabbed by Yusuke as the floor tile she’s on simply vanishes. The two then have to share Fox’s smaller one, which spins much like the one Goro had originally landed on. 

_Oh, look at her. Isn’t she the leader? That’s not leader-like._

Goro nearly ends up toppling off his own tile as the voice catches his attention. It didn’t seem to come from anywhere, but as he looks around, he spots them. Shadows. It truly is an audience now, forms in different heights with yellow blinking eyes staring at them from the depths of the level. 

Makoto has now managed to step forward, Yusuke chasing behind, although their tiles all seem to do different things. Goro takes his chance and darts right, only for the tile to start crumbling like mud, as does the next and the next as he jumps between them. It’s so frustrating, he almost wants to turn back, see if they can map out the way forward properly. 

_Really? You can’t give in, it’s your job to keep going. You’ve barely started._

Goro hisses, but again the Shadows remain, not one of them standing out so he can cut it down. Or he would if he could stand still for a moment and actually draw his light sword. Looking up, he sees one of the poles and instead jumps, clinging to it for respite. 

Of course it starts twirling, but only slowly, so he can at least take stock of the situation. Yusuke is to his left, sword helping him stay stable on a tile which seems to be constantly swaying, while Queen is hopping upwards on a line of tiles that seem to have fallen down into a void beneath the level. Ann seems to be further than the rest, but her tiles are moving like a treadmill, never making progress. 

“Oracle, any clues?” he barks, and he hears her suck in a breath. 

_You don’t know the answer? But you have to, it’s your job to know it!_

Goro could really do without the Shadows talking. It doesn’t make any of this easier. 

“There’s no pattern to this, there’s nothing! You still just need to keep going to get to the door,” she says, clear frustration and a hint of worry echoing. 

There’s a yell and Ann falls, Yusuke shouting, but she gets up quickly before the treadmill tiles can push her off. 

“Panther, get on bar!” he yells, and she turns around quickly before leaping to the side, clinging onto one of the prison-like bars of the edge. Beneath her, the tiles still whirl. 

“What do we do?” she screams back, and Goro grips his own beam tighter, claw gauntlets making scraping sounds against the metal. 

Fox makes his move, gaining ground and Makoto launches herself upwards, pulling herself up and flipping onto a new tile. They progress past Goro, but he needs to think. Needs a moment to work out what the trick is. 

_You don’t have time to think. What if they all fall again?_

Goro’s mind clicks onto the Shadow words. That’s familiar. Akira had mentioned something about having to make decisions for everyone. This level must have something to do with that, if the Shadow’s comments are taken into account, specifically to do with being Joker. 

Just as he thinks that, he looks up at the door, and notices there’s a new figment there. Goro twists on the beam, it’s slow rotation irritating, but it doesn’t hamper his ability to watch. So he sees in great detail as the shadow moves downwards from the door, until the figure comes closer. 

Joker. 

Or a Shadow version judging by the yellow gleam of the eyes behind the mask. Goro finds his mouth dry, his body tensing. Is this the Palace owner? The cognition they need to fight? But all he does is stand and watch, taking in the scene with a lack of expression that haunts Goro in how different it is from the person he fought both against and beside. He surveys each one of them in turn, before his eyes lock on Goro’s. 

“You need to get down,” the Shadow says, and its voice carries, vibrates across the level even if it seems to never go above a whisper. 

“Oracle!” Makoto calls, and their navigator speaks in his ear. 

“It’s a powerful Shadow. It’s not the Palace ruler though,” she says, and Goro decides that definitely means he doesn’t have to obey. 

“You have to keep moving. You cannot stop. Get back on the path,” the Joker cognition states. 

“Why?” he calls, and to his horror his hands start to slip. The beam is suddenly far more difficult to grip, and he gives himself a moment to dig the claws in deeper. 

_They’re refusing? They can’t refuse, that’s not what Phantom Thieves do. What use are they if they don’t keep going?_

_It’s probably a plan, it’s a plan right? It can’t hurt, you’re better than that! I wish I could see their faces behind the mask, I bet they’re really enjoying it._

Yusuke slips, and almost tumbles into a sudden wide hole that Queen only just manages to pull him out of. The floor reforms instantly, and Goro suddenly slips down, the beam not even solid anymore. 

“Damn it, Joker! What do you mean!” he yells, not caring that he’s addressing a Shadow. 

Ann has managed to slide down and seems to be in a safer area, moving between several tiles that shake but do not buck her off. He instead, focuses on getting as far as he can, skirting around the others, not paying attention to the tiles in sheer determination until he reaches the ever moving set Ann was on previously. Here, he’s as close to the Shadow he can get, even if the revolving ground makes it impossible for him to get closer. 

“Your only purpose is to keep going, so you can’t stop. That is your role,” the Shadow intones, and Goro picks up his pace, seeing if he can squeeze even a small amount of distance in. But of course he can’t. It doesn’t change. 

“Like hell it is! We’re not getting any closer doing this,” Goro yells, and Shadow Joker nods once.

“I know. There is no way through the Trickster’s Floor. But you cannot stop. Your purpose is to endure it and keep moving.” 

Goro feels that familiar rage ignite, that one which served him so well in his previous times in the metaverse. The Shadow just speaks in circles, adjusting its red gloves while watching him unblinking, just as Joker once did, yet being an embodiment of everything Joker is not. 

He’s just about to consider launching himself forward, moving tiles be damned when someone lands next to him. 

“No. That is not correct. You can stop, and you should stop if the alternative is unbearable,” Yusuke says. 

The Shadow flinches, and beneath his feet, Goro feels the floor shudder. He thinks for a moment, the speed may have decreased, but it picks up once more, and Goro keeps looking around for another way. Yusuke, though, seems to think talking is still of use. 

“There are things one should not be forced to endure no matter how...brilliant of an idea it may seem to others,” he says slowly. 

“That is not how this works!” The Shadow replies, and to Goro it seems somewhat frantic, a note in its voice rising, a double toned voice both Joker’s and another’s. 

“It is!” calls Ann, who again lands next to Goro, looking exhausted but focused. 

“Even if you’re the leader, you have limits too. And you can stop, wherever you need,” she says. 

Goro pauses, their words resonating. A floor that constantly changes, gaudy and hung with red lights, one you have to move on from, keep jumping to, and can never get off. This is all about Joker. He’s annoyed he hadn’t realised it before, even with the name. 

_Are they really going to stop? Boring_

_What’s the point in watching? We should go home._

_This is useless. Who let them decide? They can’t be allowed to stop! Make them keep going!_

The Shadow voices rise, and Goro feels them pulsing against his skull, the heat of their pronouncements clear. The Joker form shakes its head, and stands firm by the door. 

“If you persist in this way, then you are nothing. Worthless, and useless,” it intones 

Goro wants to hit something, needs to tear something to shreds with the understanding that flows. 

“Shut up. Your job as Leader isn’t to take everything and keep going with bullshit plans. Even if you get off you’re still important and still the leader. Or do I need to destroy this damn whole place and prove it!” he yells, and for good measure, he pulls out his sword and thrusts it straight through the tiles beneath him. 

There’s the smell of burning metal, followed by a sound akin to grinding gears as the tiles slow, then judder to a halt. He feels a swooping sense of pleasure for affecting this world, and by his side, the other two ready, all clearly on the same page. 

The voices in the crowd still, an almost shocked silence falling, and as it does, the Joker form stills. Slowly, it raises one hand to the mask, and rips it away, a familiar motion, Goro braces himself, but instead of releasing it’s Persona, the mask starts to dissolve, silver pieces rising like confetti. And with it, goes the Shadow, slowly flaking away into nothingness. Goro thinks he sees a small smile on its face as it vanishes, but he can’t sure, isn’t really sure if he understands anything right now. 

“Oh no, guys, incoming!” 

Futaba’s voice echoes, and Yusuke draws his sword while Goro looks around, trying to identify what the Shadow could be reforming into, even though it still seems to have disappeared. 

“It’s the audience, quick, let’s go,” Makoto cries, and Goro spins to his left as she runs forward and heads the team, just in time to see those ill-formed shapes begin to take substance. 

The darkness appears to spill out of the cracks in the funhouse, combining and flowing together, rising until just a mesh of darkness stands before them, shapeless and gaping, a grinning silver mouth its only point of light. He feels the Palace alert level rocket up, as the mass steps forward, legs appearing, and an actual creature starts to appear. 

This though is familiar. Goro bares his teeth and yells as he slashes forward, light sword severing the creature and watching its form burst forth. Makoto brings them to order with her usual calm strategy, and soon enough, the four are in formation. 

“Come, Hereward!” he yells, and his energy rises, heart in his mouth as the world seems to illuminate violet as his power rages. 

And it’s everything. He is so much stronger here, his ultimate Persona unlocked in the past still as responsive and fantastic as his memories relate. Power upon power, with a satisfying conclusion; the fight is over almost too quickly, the Shadow vanishing to nothing with a well-placed slam of Makoto’s gauntlet. 

It’s not a hard fight, but something about it is incredibly draining, and they all gather panting slightly. 

“Door, now,” Makoto says, and they make a break for it, sprinting across the previously moving parts, Goro deciding on his way to slice his sword ferociously through one of the prison bar-like structures near the door, grinning to himself when it cracks apart. 

“Would you stop destroying things and hurry up!” Futaba yells, but Goro sees Ryuji take his own swipe at the bar too, whooping when it crumbles to pieces, the teetering stability of this Palace ever more apparent, so he feels little guilt. 

One level down. Three more to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the second floor. 
> 
> In the meantime, come find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji is interrupted when the same sound as before hits. Goro watches as a yellow plate appears on one side, and green on the other. As it slips into place, it hits the one next to it, causing a cascading reaction as each one attempts to fight for space. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going to happen, and Goro watches as on the nearest side, a blue plate on the end is knocked, falling down as the other takes its place, and smashes as it hits the box underneath. 
> 
> What is unexpected is the cry from Yusuke, as he stumbles. 
> 
> “Whoa, wait he took damage!” Futaba yells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for your wonderful support! Hope you enjoy the next part of the Palace. 
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta MxTicketyBoo <3

Bizarrely, as soon as they cross through the door, the world seems to slow, the tempo of Goro’s heart lessening, and he realises they’re in a safe room. Which is odd, normally they have a choice as to whether or not to enter, but he’s grateful for the reprieve. 

The room looks like a storage cupboard, in keeping with general palace themes, covered pieces of wood and broken light fixtures, half painted displays and more torn posters of tarot cards dotted around. Goro sits himself down on a wooden crate in the corner of the room as the others catch their breaths. 

“What the hell was that?” Ryuji asks, as Morgana and Makoto check everyone for injuries, Ann and Yusuke downing drinks. 

“I don’t know. The Joker figure was a powerful shadow and didn’t attack us, but the other weaklings did. And we didn’t really have a conversation with it, even if what you guys said seemed to cause it to vanish,” Futaba says, looking up from where she’s sprawled on a discarded hammock. 

Goro looks up as Yusuke places the drink down, and sighs heavily. 

“Whatever that level was, it was to do with Akira’s feelings of always having to be a certain way as leader. And I believe I contributed to that with something I said when he came back from the interrogation room. That was unbearably thoughtless of me,” he says. 

Goro turns away, not really willing to contribute to anything that mentions his actions on that day, can safely think that anything Yusuke may have said will never compare to the fact he shot Akira in the head. The room feels suddenly too small, too many of them occupying the same space. 

“You can’t blame yourself, it’s not just you. We saw him as the one who seemed to have all the answers,” Futaba says, moving as if she’s about to get up and go to him, then changes her mind, sitting back down, hiding her face in screens. 

Murmured thoughts of agreement follow as the conversation continues. 

“I know Akira had powers we all didn’t, but that responsibility clearly weighed far too much on him. To the point where he thinks he only had value as Joker. Which is not true,” Ann says, wrapping an arm around Yusuke. 

“Of course it’s not. But it appears Akira worries it is,” Makoto says, and Goro sighs heavily. 

“I don’t think it’s just a fear about your relationships. I think it’s part of the lost feelings in general,” Goro says, recalling the rush of power, the exaltation he’d felt just moments ago in summoning his Persona. 

Nothing in the real world does quite feel like that. Even if Goro is perfectly happy about a life far removed, it is something that cannot be replicated. He can’t tell what Akira misses, or even if it’s about missing it at all, but certainly there is a loss of something without being Joker. 

His mind wanders back to his conversation with Sumire, the mourning and grief. That level confirmed just how difficult it was at times to be Joker, to have the primary responsibility of that leadership role never waning, and yet Akira misses it. It twists in Goro’s own mind, so he dreads to think how confusing it must be to live it. 

“How are we feeling? Should we continue?” Makoto asks.

Futaba stretches and stands. “There is a second door out of this room, leading into a small corridor, which moves onto the next level. It appears to be a larger room, and leads out to a stairway and another safe room,” she says. 

“I think we should continue while we can,” Okumura says.

Morgana nods. “Yup, we should keep going. If we complete this next part, we’ll be halfway through,” he says. 

“I’d like to take the rear guard,” Yusuke states, and Makoto gives him an appraising stare, clearly concerned that this level shook him so much, but she agrees. 

“Noir, I’d like you in the front then,” she says, and there’s no more discussion to be had. 

Ann grabs him quickly and makes him drink a quick cup of thermos coffee and eat some gummy sweets, both of which do actually help, as they all reload and do final checks. Then, without another word passing between them, they cross the room and open the second door. 

As predicted, this is a corridor, lined in what appears to be plush dark wine velvet, with small lanterns hanging every so often, guiding them towards a door of cherry-wood, the handle gleaming silver, ornate in its construction, flower pattern carved through it. Across the wood of the door reads the words _ Room of Harmony _ in curving silver letters of calligraphy, as well as a handheld scanner placed on a small round table, it too in matching wood.

“There’s a Shadow on the other side. Again, it’s powerful but it’s not moving. And not the Palace ruler,” Futaba says as they all stand a few feet from the door, taking stock.

“Is there a Palace ruler? Joker’s shadow did seem like a real cognitive version,” Okumura asks, and Futaba concentrates for a second. 

“I’m not reading one. But there must be a ruler, I’m guessing they’ll come out the closer we get to the fourth level. I can’t read anything from there at all, each area seems to open up as we pass through, but even then I can still get faint readings of the third floor. The fourth feels as if it’s...closed off. Entirely blocked,” she says. 

“But Mona said he could sense the treasure,” Yusuke says. 

The cat nods. “It’s really faint, and not getting stronger even though we’re one level closer. Oracle’s right, the whole area seems blocked.” 

Goro shakes his head, his replenished energy getting the better of him. “No use worrying about the treasure when we have two floors to go,” he says. 

Futaba nods. “He’s right. Anyway, the cognition of Joker we faced didn’t seem to have much willpower or movement, despite being powerful and didn’t seem to want to attack us. Which is so weird, compared to everything else we’ve ever seen.”

“Let’s see how this floor is. Maybe that will give us more answers. I think we have to scan our tickets to get in,” Makoto adds, picking up the scanner, and doing so. A small chime echoes once she’s done. 

There’s no barcode, but Goro’s ticket does indeed scan, and once Futaba does hers, there's an audible click of the door unlocking. Makoto stands before it, Goro taking the left, Okumura directly behind and Ann on the right. Then with a breath, she pushes the door open. 

It seems though, they are braced for no reason. Nothing jumps out, no alerts fill their heads, and Futaba stays silent and they swiftly file in close, staying close to the edges until the group is all present. The door slams shut, the first sound in the room, and although it causes him to wince, there is no menace from the action. As it shuts, the room lights slowly raise, almost like a theatre, revealing the strange set up. It’s a perfectly square room, with an another cherry-wood door facing them, the word exit written in the same curving script

Much like Goro noticed in the first level, there is something shabby in the décor. The stand on a carpet which looks soft, yet as he scrutinises, Goro can see stray threads and wear in the corners. Nothing about this is as pristine as the appearance wishes for it to be. The design of the room is strange; the two opposing walls contain a device that seems to be like shelves, housing a series of coloured disks. 

“Aren’t these spinning plates?” Okumura asks, peering at one to his left, Ryuji going with her. 

“Oh, where you have to keep them on a stick?” Ann asks, moving to the opposing side, Yusuke joining her. 

“They do seem to be of the right substance. But I see no…sticks, as you called them,” he says. 

Goro continues to look around as the others chatter, Futaba scanning the plates on either side of the room to see if there is any indication of what they need to do. There is a wooden box placed on the floor of each side, running the length of the room the same wood as the shelves, slightly chipped but thin and deep. Almost like drain, he thinks idly, and then looks upwards to the ceiling. 

Strangely, there seems to be a gap in the topmost shelf where one plate could be. Above it in the furthest corner from where Goro stands, there is what looks like the skeleton of a funnel made out of a wooden frame, vanishing off into nowhere. Goro switches his gaze to the other side of the room and sure enough, the same mechanism is on the other side. 

Before he can contemplate this further, a sharp, high noise rings through the room, and they all turn towards the exit. He braces himself, seeing the others do the same out of the corner of his vision as there, standing before them is another Shadow version of Akira. 

He’s wearing the Shujin uniform this time, and seems to be hidden in gloom, the dim lights of the room not quite reaching, the entire area by the door darker. A clearer sign that they once again need the permission of a cognitive version of Akira to pass couldn’t be given. The lighting in addition to the angle of which he holds his head means Goro cannot see his eyes, although his glasses seem to shine somewhat. It reminds him of very early days, and ants crawl, biting over his skin. 

In his hand, Akira holds a bell and a chimer, indicating where the sound came from. But the shadow doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, even as they stay ready. Makoto, closest to the door, moves one step forward, and as she does, there’s a heavy clunk from above, catching their attention. 

Goro’s eyes fly upwards to the contraption he’d seen before just as a new, silver plate emerges. He frowns, watching it slide down slowly, clicking into place. On the other side, a red one does the same. The Shadow Akira does not move, and Goro meets Ann’s eyes, who shrugs. 

“Um...what the hell is going on?” Ryuji says, breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know, the Shadow is...inactive? It’s not a threat, at least it doesn’t seem to be,” Futaba says, all of them turning to it, and just as before, it hasn’t moved. 

“The room was called Harmony, correct? Odd seeing as there is an uneven amount of all eight colours,” Yusuke says. 

“Um. Eight?” Okumura says, looking at them all, and they all slowly turn. Goro thinks back to his tickets. A colour for each of them. 

“I still don’t get what we have to-” 

Ryuji is interrupted when the same sound as before hits. Goro watches as a yellow plate appears on one side, and green on the other. As it slips into place, it hits the one next to it, causing a cascading reaction as each one attempts to fight for space. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going to happen, and Goro watches as on the nearest side, a blue plate on the end is knocked, falling down as the other takes its place, and smashes as it hits the box underneath. 

What is unexpected is the cry from Yusuke, as he stumbles. 

“Whoa, wait he took damage!” Futaba yells, and Ann steps up to heal him quickly, as Goro turns and marches quickly to the other side. In the box, the remnants of a black plate remain, but before he can say anything, the cycle begins again. 

“Shit, yellow and white next!” Ryuji yells. 

Goro readies himself, pretty sure if he’s not black then he must be white, as he watches in heightened state of not quite fear and not quite anticipation as the white plate joins the black, smashing to pieces in the box.

Even bracing himself, he can’t deny it hurts. He hisses, feeling as if the plate itself had been slammed into his chest on shattering, spirals of pain emanating from the centre, each separate shard worming its way under his skin. He exhales in relief as Futaba uses her skill to boost both him and Ryuji, who’s staggered back too, at the same moment. 

She spins around quickly. “White, red, blue, silver, pink, green, yellow and orange,” she says, pointing at each one of them in turn before ending with herself. 

She turns her eyes slowly towards the shadow, before saying softly, almost as a question. “Black?” 

Goro thinks Akira’s head might jerk up, but he’s unsure. It still remains in the shade of the door, possibly watching, possible waiting, but not doing anything else. At least Joker from the previous level spoke. This silent Akira is unnerving. He’s always been quiet, Goro can’t deny that, but there’s always been a presence to him, whether he’s been listening or observing. This vacancy is not Akira, but seeing as it’s here, it must be some internal perception. 

“There are more black plates than coloured,” Yusuke says, just as another set begins, this time silver and black at the ends. 

Makoto stumbles, waves off any attempt to heal her and instead grabs an item, swallowing quickly. 

“The damage is bad, I don’t know if we can keep healing,” Futaba says, eyeing up where the next orange plate sits, tensing. 

“Then we need to figure out this damn room,” Goro says, unsure what to do. 

If they break apart the room, they’ll all suffer an extreme amount of damage at once, and the plates will not necessarily stop coming. They either need to find out what causes the plates to fall, or what Akira’s thinking in this room. 

“Oracle, can you see any way to get to the machinery?” Makoto calls, just as another white and green plate enter from the ceiling. 

Futaba winces, orange and black this time on the ends. “No, I can’t see anything above us, or any passageways marked on the map, but Joker was the one who-”

She cuts off with a scream, Makoto immediately catching her, Ann healing. All three exchange worried looks, and Goro has to admit, he’s starting to pick up on that himself. 

“This is ridiculous. Let’s just blast through!” Ryuji yells, and Goro turns to see him aiming his gun at the top of the mechanism. 

“Skull, no!” Morgana yowls, but it’s too late. 

Ryuji fires, and Goro braces himself for the collapse of the mechanism or possibly some sort of movement from Akira’s Shadow, but instead the bullet ricochets off the wooden frame and spins directly into a black plate, on the other side of the room, the shards dropping down into the plate. 

“You are an imbecile,” Goro yells, visions of the room spilling over with violent shadows while the plates still drop filling his mind. 

“Do you have a better idea then, huh? We’re just standing here taking damage!” he yells, and Goro snarls, moving forward, before Makoto gets in his way. 

“We cannot fight over this, we need to think,” she says, looking between them. 

“Panther, Mona, brace yourselves,” Yusuke calls, and Ann doubles over while Morgana groans and falls. 

“Okay, what do we know,” Ann pants as she heals herself, and Futaba looks around the room. 

“The mechanism doesn’t seem to lead anywhere so it’s part of the weirdness of the room,” she says. 

“There were more black plates, but now there are more colours. The only plates which have appeared so far are our ones,” Yusuke adds. 

All of their gazes turn to Shadow. Akira looks the same...or not, there is something different, but Goro is having trouble picking out what with the lack of light over there. He’s distracted suddenly as a white plate falls and his knees hit the floor, vision blurring at the sudden onslaught. The instant relief when Ann heals has him gasping. 

“It’s getting worse,” he says, and she nods, eyes behind her mask fearful as she helps him to his feet. 

“Akira. You’re...you’re disappearing.” 

Okumura’s voice echoes, and as it does there’s a faint clunk of machinery stalling. The Shadow lifts its head, and Goro for the first time sees those yellow eyes, unnatural and wide, boring into him. But Okumura is correct; the Shadow is fading, the door coming into shape through him, when he’d previously been solid. 

“The black plates...they’re not being replaced at all!” Morgana says, and Goro spares a glance up to where another pink and red appear. 

They pause as Okumura and Ryuji get hit this time, and Makoto mutters about her supply of healing items, the tension in the air building. But once recovered, Okumura stands on her feet, ignoring the room in favour of moving towards Shadow Akira. 

“Akira...I’m sorry,” she says, her voice choked and Goro’s throat closes a little at the heaviness in her voice. He’s never really known what to do in the face of other’s emotions. 

She stands tall, her back faced towards the rest of the room as Morgana and Makoto move to stand near. Ryuji shares a look with him, then shrugs, which doesn’t make him feel any better about the lack of understanding. 

“I should have said so sooner. And...more explicitly, but I didn’t mean to make you feel as if you aren’t valued. That whatever you feel isn’t important. Or, that what I feel should take precedence over your own views,” she says. 

“Noir?” Ann says quietly, confusion in her voice, but as she does, Okumura swings around to the nearest wall, gun in hand. 

“Oh no no no, I tried that!” Ryuji says frantically, but unlike him, she’s not aiming up. 

Goro's mind catches up a second before she fires, aiming deliberately at the plates. Before any of them can stop her, she shoots down four pink plates in rapid succession before dropping the gun and falling to the floor. 

Futaba screams about her health, Makoto calls for Ann who runs forward, but as Goro looks up, he sees the Shadow has moved forward, looking panicked but still not saying anything. 

The mechanism is silent, as if it too is shocked by her actions, the wall to the left now perfectly fine with a series of gaps where plates can fit, no immediate danger. Okumura sits up slowly, all of their eyes caught between her and the Shadow. 

“I don’t matter more than you,” she says, severe and resolute, but the Shadow shakes his head. 

As he does, the mechanism starts up, and three pink plates are revealed, filling the shelves once more. Okumura makes a noise, half frustration, half fear, but this time, Ryuji steps forward. 

“She’s right, dude. We talk to you because you’re great, but you’re allowed to talk back. Even if it...I don’t know...whatever it is doesn’t make much sense or you don’t think we’ll like what you say. We’re your friends. You don’t protect us first, we protect each other,” he says, then swings his bat, hitting two yellow plates next to each other on the right hand shelf. 

The Shadow now looks frantic, the new plates emerging.

As they do, Futaba sighs. “You always think of us first. You’re a great friend, Akira. But you don’t have to solve everything, especially when you’re hurting. I don’t want you to burn out for me,” she says, and shoots out lasers into a series of orange plates, before falling backwards with a groan, passing out completely. 

Akira looks between them wringing his hands, and more plates reveal. But he’s looking more solid, the transparency vanishing and Goro looks between them all. 

“Be mindful of healing!” Makoto says, as she brings out several items to rouse Futaba. 

This room, Goro now sees, is born out of Akira’s belief in his distorted relationships. A balancing act of thinking he needs to be everything for everyone, possibly at the extent of himself. That his importance lies in keeping them afloat, rather than it being a two-way stream. 

Goro hisses, storming forward, Shadow Akira’s eyes widening and Goro wishes he could grab him by the lapels and shake him. 

“How many times did I tell you that you were interesting? Do I have to keep spelling this shit out for you. Why are you this fucking moronic?” he yells then unsheathes his sword and slices through two, three, four plates before the pain is too much for him to hold onto. 

He really doesn’t know how to explain to this Shadow, this approximation, how angry this room makes him. Akira’s given up more than anyone, and still believes in some part of him that all he is only worthy if he exists for others, taking on their pain as his own. Stupid, sacrificial nature, always feeling he needs to play that role.

The Shadow’s mouth moves, saying words over and over again into the silence. 

“Persona,” Ann says softly from behind, and Goro turns as she heals him, giving her a smile. 

“You think these things burn? I kinda want to set this whole room on fire, along with these thoughts, Akira. You don’t have to keep all of us going, that’s not your job. We relied on you too much, I see that now. But now it’s your turn to rely on us, if you want to. Starting today,” Ann says, then engulfs the red plates in flame. 

The Shadow grips its hair, the plates come raining down, but Okumura and Ryuji shoot theirs down, wincing at each hit to them. Yusuke shatters a series of blue with Vorpal Blade, and Morgana disintegrates the green with a blast of air. 

“Alright, brace yourselves!” Makoto calls, healing the team before shattering her silver plates, and immediately passing out. Morgana revives her, and Goro turns, facing the Shadow, which is now almost entirely solid. 

“This is what I meant,” he says softly, catching its yellow eyes. “When I said I hated you.” 

The Shadow stares, eyes wide with a flicker of something in its gaze, more alive and present than any other incarnation of distortion Goro has ever seen. It reaches out as if to touch his shoulder, but the hand fades out at the last minute, and it’s mouth forms words he cannot hear. 

Logic, Goro has found, can be an enemy of the unreality he creates in his own head. Sometimes, it can be easy to show yourself thoughts that like to fuck around and distort your mind aren’t true, simple reminders and tactics to rationalise the situation. 

Other times, you have to force them into submission. 

He turns away from the Shadow, and surveys the ground as his mouth pulls upwards. “I think it’s time for an all out attack, don’t you agree, _ Leader, _ ” he says. 

Makoto grins, pulling her hands up in a stance. “I’m not our leader. We already have a great one. But that’s an excellent idea, Crow. Are we ready?” she calls, and he falls in line. 

It’s not the same as previous seconds before their joint attacks; this one, will not end in their guaranteed victory. But as Futaba calls it, Goro finds he doesn’t care in the slightest, as together they eviscerate their coloured plates. 

Goro’s not sure how many he takes down, shattering the ones he can see on either side, and following up on the new ones which try to replace them, keeping an eye out for every spec of white he can see. It’s agony. Cruel and terrible, shots and tears lighting up his pain receptors until he cannot hold his weapon any longer, hitting the floor hard, metal tanging in his mouth. 

A bell rings. 

The world stills then, impossibly, Goro’s vision clears with the unmistakable feeling of his health being restored fully. He sits up, body and mind entirely energised to see the Shadow Akira is gone, the wall is now full of only black plates, and the exit door is open.

They did it, but it doesn’t feel like victory. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Ryuji mutters, holding out a hand to Goro, who blinks but for some reason takes it, while Yusuke helps up Futaba, Ann slings an arm about Makoto and Okumura picks up Morgana. 

“It’s another safe room,” Futaba says in clear relief as the door shuts behind them. 

Just like before, there is no choice, they simply stumble into the room, sitting down on crates, all of them quiet and subdued. 

“I think we should go back for the day,” Makoto says, and no one protests. 

Goro believes it’s sensible. They’ve done half the palace, that’s excellent for an initial exploration, especially as the fourth floor is the treasure room. They’ve expended a lot of items and mental strength. He doesn’t think any of them are in the mood to carry on. 

The real world is harsh as they step outside, quickly going back to Futaba’s house. As Goro treks at the back of the group, he notices a car parked close, two men in dark suits in the front seats. Goro pauses, watching. They stare back, seemingly not caring that he’s noticed them, which is more frightening than he cares to think about. Goro turns away, but can feel their eyes at his back. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen them. They visited his hospital, never spoke to him, but always seemed to be allowed near, as long as they did not interfere with his medical care. He could never tell, mainly as for the first few months he was too unwell to focus, if they were Shido’s men or something else. Something different but aware, more so than anyone, of his past. 

They did not return one day. And that was it. He’d obviously either passed or failed a test, and he didn’t know which. Doesn’t want to either. He gets the sense though now, that currently, they aren’t going to do anything. Call it intuition or experience, but this is the observation stage. Once they, or possibly Akira, does something to trigger the next, these people will make themselves known. With that in mind, he decides to keep it to himself. They all have enough to worry about as it is. 

Goro sits in a chair slightly apart from the group in Futaba’s house, who chatter quietly between them. He replays pieces of the Palace over and over, the garish colours, the manner of the trick floor and balancing room, the way the two Shadows had reacted. 

A mug suddenly appears in his vision, steaming, and he looks up to meet Okumura’s gaze. 

“I don’t know if you like tea,” she says, and he realises that’s the first thing she’s said to him directly in two years. 

He takes it. “Yes. Thank you,” he replies, sure she can’t have poisoned it, which is an extremely paranoid thought but it slips through anyway. 

She hovers beside him, sipping her own tea, which is the most awkward situation he’s been in since this all began, worse than initially speaking to Futaba. The others all have drinks of their own, but as they take seats, Makoto clears her throat. 

“How are you all?” she says, and it’s such a replica of Akira it makes Goro’s heart sting. 

“That was rough,” Ryuji says into his glass of lemonade. 

Morgana jumps up on the table. “You all did great, but that last room was difficult. I imagine the next two levels will be harder,” he says. 

Goro grimaces, taking another sip of tea at the truth in the statement, cataloguing his experiences. The Palace exists in nowhere; a crumbling look of grandeur in a place designed to amuse and trick, to a heinous degree, but the aim is to reach the end, even if the way is disjointed. A desperate plea, Goro is starting to see now. A hint of challenge, if he’s not mistaken. There is no doubt, that despite the difficult nature of what they’ve already faced, it will only get worse. 

Next to him, Okumura inhales. “I have something I wanted to talk about,” she says, as they all turn to her. She taps her nails three times on the cup before speaking. “I think we need to tell Akira.” 

“Me too,” Futaba says, even as the words rattle around Goro’s skull. 

Makoto nods slowly. “Yes, I think that’s right. After today...well. We’ve seen the Palace, we probably can’t do anything other than get through it, but I think Akira has the right to know,” she says. 

Goro feels himself nodding. It is the right thing to do now that they know more about the distortion. He’s still simply out of practice with these types of conversations. He could fake his way through interviews, learn lines to please crowds and all he’d ever done with the Phantom Thieves had been layer upon layer of lies for different aims. 

All instances of truly heartfelt conversation have been accidental, his inability to channel anything normally, or having very little experience of how to engage with these topics in the past boiling over at inconvenient times. Possibly the only time he’d ever chosen to engage in this was on that dreaded winter’s day where he’d told Akira to reject a perfect world. Since then, he’s only talked to his therapist in stilted, strange patterns. 

But of course, a short time with these people and he’s having confessional comfort sessions and now an intervention. 

“I take it we all wish to be present,” he says, and there’s a series of nods, all, and he takes a mouthful of tea just for something to do. 

“It’s decided, then. Let’s regroup and think about the best way. This isn’t an ambush,” Makoto says, as if they need reminding. Although, Goro can’t help but think eight individuals in a room can’t be anything other than a confrontation.

There’s a lull as they all sink into their thoughts. Goro hates that his mind churns with too many of them, the spent energy that, despite all their healing in the metaverse, always hits when he enters reality. He wishes for food and sleep and space from the drain of being around people as well as his own realisations. 

He needs to deal with...certain things. He can feel them attempting to surface, dragging upwards fragments of things long buried, that he’d not even accounted for how wide the grave had been dug. The Palace is forcing him to think and feel once more, to consider his relationship with Akira. 

He’d always framed it in some sort of fantastical setting. Creating a rival, an adversary and mapping their interactions into his manufactured life as Goro Akechi, Detective Price. His façade began to crumble, falling to pieces in that engine room where he’d screamed his emotions out for all to hear. 

Hate, as Maruki and Morgana had pointed out, was never a truth with them. It was an easy word to use for things he was in no position to correctly understand. In truth the complexity astounded him, and he kept trying to place Akira into boxes to help him cope, more mechanisms to keep going, keep pursuing, keep moving on to his end result of victory. 

The problem is, you cannot put a person in a box. Akira didn’t fit because while he went along with Goro’s ideals of rivalry, met challenges and contests on equal footing, he did it under the motivation of wanting to make a connection. Goro can count on one hand the people who have tried to do that for him. 

He did hate things. Hated how Akira got through his barriers with barely a sentence, matched him power for power, surpassed him because he had others, while Goro spent a life being rejected and hated for existing. It wasn’t fair. But neither were his expectations. 

The fake reality gave him a time limit to be another part of him, the bruised and bleeding thoughts that he used to fight and strive when he wanted to give it all up. And yet, Akira continued to want to stay by his side. Akira has seen, accidentally for the most part, every side of Goro and now, in the same manner, he is seeing every side of Akira. 

And, in the same way it makes him want to fight. He’s been itching to get into the Palace, to destroy it, from the moment he knew of its existence. He drew the others in, didn’t run or go back home. It speaks volumes, it always has done. Never escaping, never wanting to escape. Those emotions have different names, clear names, but with them come a startling amount of issues that Goro will need to unpack. 

This moment is not the hour, but it will come, sooner than he’s ready for. As much as Goro believes he hasn’t been running from his past, there is a factor he has been fleeing from; it’s just that it never reached actualisation before he started the race. 

Futaba soon reminds them all that Sojiro will be home soon, and she still has homework. “Entrance exams don’t take themselves. Yet,” she says darkly. 

“Ah, yes you must be taking them soon. I should look into that,” he says, thinking of his own conversation with Akira. 

Futaba glances at him, but thankfully doesn’t ask. “Well, if you want a study buddy, let me know. My grades are definitely better than yours now,” she says, which leaves him perplexed for a second, which he shakes off as Ann calls him. 

“We should go, are you okay getting the train?” she says, and he nods, not really wanting to sit in traffic if they order a cab. 

They head off quickly, deciding to leave at different times, which Goro personally thinks is overkill, but he doesn’t mention it. As they head into the main street, Ann links her arm with his. 

“Are you okay? Today sucked. I hated doing that,” she says. 

Goro flicks his hair out of his eyes and stares at the sky for a second. “It fucking sucked.” 

Ann laughs to his surprise, squeezing his arm. “Yeah. I’m starving, we need comfort food. Let’s go get ramen on the way home.” 

Goro feels himself warm despite the chill of inevitability. It is all vastly awful in many ways, the future clouded by his need to drag Akira from this mess, and do what he can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. The  _ we can never escape each other _ still haunts, but day by day it’s becoming more of a comfort than the terror it once struck, even with the looming soul searching he unfortunately needs to subject himself to. 

He is still unsure, stuck in this hatred of being back in the past, but it has been good in many ways, to rekindle these potential friendships and associations, doors he felt would or could be open for him, even if the path is strewn with grenades. 

Things are dim and hidden. And yet, he thinks as he and Ann walk into the station, listing places to go for dinner, there are bright spots to be found. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: An Akira POV chapter. 
> 
> And in the meantime come chat to me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)

**Author's Note:**

> More coming soon! And you can find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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